


Last Exit For The Lost

by lapiccolacoccinella



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapiccolacoccinella/pseuds/lapiccolacoccinella
Summary: Bakura has been gone for five years, leaving Ryou in relative peace.  But Ryou is finding his life increasingly lonely, and Bakura is told that he can't be judged in the Afterlife until he lives a life free from Zorc's influence.  So the two are forced to meet again, this time in separate bodies.  Rating for strong language and eventual adult situations.  Other pairings implied.





	1. Empty

Last Exit For The Lost

_ Would you pay life’s pleasures to see me? _

_ Does it hurt, for I want you to remain? _

 

Chapter 1

Empty

_ Something has left my life, _

_ And I don’t know where it went to _

 

Five years had passed since the Millennium Items had been returned to their rightful place.  Five years since the thief inside the Millennium Ring had finally left Ryou at peace.  Five years of quiet, blissful normalcy - boring, everyday life.

Aside from no longer losing possession of his body on a regular basis, Ryou had not changed overmuch.  His baby fat had thinned, leaving his face somewhat gaunt thereby completing the haunted look that his tired eyes, with their dark circles and heavy lids, invoked.  Ryou still spent many sleepless nights, sometimes for the usual reason of getting too carried away on a project, and sometimes for the nightmares he still faced, though the being they truly belonged to was long gone.

Ryou’s hair was still long and thick and unruly.  On the rare occasion that he went out for a social gathering, he would tease it out, almost as a reminder to himself that once upon a time, this body knew how to be the bold center of attention, even if its current driver was more than happy to keep to himself and to his work.  Despite the excitement of his later teen years, these social gatherings came infrequently.  His group of friends did not dislike him, but they had never had a good opportunity to grow close over the course of the events that had brought them together.  And if Ryou was totally honest with himself, he would also have acknowledged that many of their actions, especially concerning ideas about right and wrong, and how they dealt with his own particular parasite, did not sit well with him.  It was hard to believe in their brand of justice when he would often wake before dawn with the image of Kul Elna burning fresh behind his eyelids.

As such, Ryou busied himself with work - namely, working on exhibitions at the Domino City Museum.  He had completed his college education, studying equal parts art and history - and with the practical experience on the archaeological field granted to him by his father, he had easily insinuated himself into the background of the museum’s goings-on.  Ryou, for all his dreary appearance, was actually rather happy with his job.  It afforded him the luxury of working within his interests, creating reproductions, drafting plans, building dioramas - all things that would otherwise be in short supply since he didn’t have friends who were interested in his tabletop games anymore. (And who could blame them?  Ryou had to face the ugly scar on his left hand every day, admonishing him for being bitter when friends didn’t come around.)

The normal, pleasant, humdrum life he had yearned for in the years of his sporadic possessions was now his.  This pleased him nearly as much as it frustrated him.  To say that he was merely lonely would not quite cover the issue at hand, for he frequently sought out seclusion.  It would be more accurate to say that he felt lost or invisible; the one person who knew him better than anyone else, the one who had no choice but to acknowledge his existence and live with it, was gone.

~*~

 

The Afterlife, Bakura had discovered, was like a long, drawn-out, and nearly impossible tabletop game campaign.  Time passed differently here, but still Bakura sensed that he had been wandering for years through mazes and tunnels and traps, answering riddles and accepting strange challenges so that he might finally have his heart weighed by Anubis.  All this work was just wasted time, he figured, since he would be devoured by Ammit anyway.  Zorc had dissipated and left the vengeful thief with his own lonely soul, but Bakura wasn’t convinced that it was untarnished.  Zorc had simply fueled his own rage and grief - the desire for revenge had been his own; though perhaps, he had to admit, he wouldn’t have acted so rashly if he hadn’t had all that power at his disposal.  Perhaps.

But now was not the time to dwell on regret.  He was finally standing before the giant scales, standing before the towering, jackal-headed god of the dead.  The monstrous Ammit had posted herself behind Anubis, her narrow maw open to reveal twisted, pointy teeth slick with saliva.  This was more or less the image that Bakura had expected.  He had not, however, expected the tall black woman, naked to the waist and sporting more gold necklaces than her neck should have been able to support, standing off to the side.  And beside her, a small, pale young girl with white hair - a girl Bakura knew well, for he had hidden her watchful presence from his host on many occasions in an effort to spare the poor boy the agony of recalling his grief and loss.  She had every right to be there, to watch him as he was devoured for his crimes, chief among them bringing terrible personal turmoil to her beloved brother.  Despite being incorporeal at the moment, he felt a sensation similar to his stomach seizing up and fluttering with guilt.

“Hello, Thief,” the child said, and although she bore the body of a girl, her eyes and her voice betrayed her as being far older and far wiser.  Bakura swallowed drily. 

“Hello, Amane,” he said.  His voice was his own now, as was his appearance - lean build, shorter hair, lilac eyes, tanned skin, vicious scar.

“Thank you for taking care of my brother,” Amane replied.  When Bakura stepped back with a stricken expression, she continued, “He was very lonely when you came to him.  He needed companionship.”

“All I did was bring him pain,” Bakura replied, wondering if perhaps Amane had grown up less than he had thought.  The girl shook her head.

“He would have died without you.  His grief was pervasive, and his need to be understood left unmet.  You kept him living, even if it was often for selfish reasons.  So thank you.”  Bakura just grunted softly and looked down at his feet.  It’s true that it was him, and not Zorc, who had pushed to protect his host even when his own parasite had railed against that wisdom.  They had spent too many thousands of years being shuffled from host to host, with none of them being strong enough to house their combined dark thirst.  But Ryou was strong enough, and Bakura had found that fascinating.  

He looked up again when he heard the jangling of gold jewelry making its way toward him.

“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked when she was standing no more than three feet away from him.  She, like Anubis sitting quietly behind his scales, was larger than life-sized; Bakura’s face was met with the soft curve of her belly, which he stared at to avoid looking her in the eye.

“Yes, Great Mother.  You are Isis,” he whispered, and he felt ready to cry.  How many times had his own mother told him the stories, of Isis and Osiris, of the evil Set, of Ra and Nut?  Her soul was now at peace, and his would be tossed into the void.  Maybe Isis herself would feed his body to Ammit, piece by piece, for the shame he had brought to Kul Elna.  It was more than he deserved.

“Do you know why I am here?” the goddess asked, crouching so that her face was level with Bakura’s, giving him no choice but to look straight into her eyes.  He merely shook his head.  He had never given much thought to women or to beauty, being far too preoccupied with his mission.  But in this moment before damnation, he realized that Isis was beautiful.  Dark arching eyebrows hovered over painted eyes and followed downward to a broad, flat nose and full lips; her mahogany skin gave the impression of softness, and her thick hair was heavily perfumed with sandalwood and patchouli oils.  Her eyes, deep and dark, were gazing at him kindly, and he could not fathom why.

“Because,” she began, extending a large hand to cup Bakura’s scarred cheek, “Anubis and I have been talking and discovered that you cannot be judged yet.  You have not had the opportunity to live your life without a dark influence meddling with your desires.”  Bakura began to furrow his brows, his eyes darting from side to side as though he was attempting to read the words she had spoken on the air between them.

“What?” he finally breathed.  “I can’t just be devoured?  Surely I -” but one of Isis’s dark fingers pressed against his lips, and her eyes twinkled.  Amane came forward to stand beside her.

“Ryou needs you.  Again,” the girl reported, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Isis confirmed, “And you need to live the life you were meant to lead.  So you go back.”  Bakura whipped his head around to look at Anubis in disbelief.  He had long since made peace with his fate, and long had he awaited death.

“It is true,” the imposing god intoned.  “You can only be judged by your own intentions, and those have been compromised.”

“I can’t,” Bakura muttered.  “He will hate me.  _ I _ hate me!  This...there’s a mistake…”

“Mothers don’t make mistakes,” Isis responded, smiling warmly.  She leaned forward and whispered his true, given name in his ear.  Bakura felt himself pitching backwards, and the chamber began to fall away.


	2. All Apologies

Chapter 2

All Apologies

_ All alone is all we are _

 

Ryou had woken feeling disoriented in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time.  He had had one of those dreams, the ones that don’t belong to him, but it wasn’t a nightmare.  In it, a dark-skinned woman with white hair was smiling gently down at him, calling him by the thief’s given name, kissing his face and tousling his hair.  In the waking light of morning, Ryou sat up in bed with quiet tears running down his face.  Over a decade without his own mother, and he was instead calling up images of other mothers in his dreams.  But knowing that this woman had been lost to the Thief as well, another victim of the terrible slaughter, almost made this friendly dream worse than the endless nightmares of fire and blood.

He managed to drag himself out of bed and get ready for work.  His dream had left him without an appetite, so instead of breakfast, he quickly downed some tea before rushing out the door.  The sky outside was gray and ominous.  The clouds seemed full and tight, ready to let loose their anguish at any moment.  Ryou cursed himself gently for not thinking to bring an umbrella, and then booked it for the train station as tiny droplets started to hit the pavement.

        At work, he had trouble focusing. The museum was slowly preparing a new Egyptian exhibit, and he had been tasked with first designing the layout.  He’d had ideas for what seemed like ages now, but as he looked at his sketches and documents laid out before him on the desk, they all seemed to swim before him.  The day moved by slowly and dreamily, and the entire time all Ryou could think of was how he had the nagging sensation that there was something he was supposed to do.

The rain beat upon his office window as he dug through photos he had taken of the diorama he was supposed to be fitting into this exhibit.  Looking at it, he was pulled back into the memory of making it, years ago now, at the behest of the Ring Spirit.

 

_ “There was another building here,” the Spirit was telling him gently, conversationally.  Ryou had noticed, as they worked on this project, that the Spirit’s tone was different.  There was no trace of the cocky, evil showman.  Now, when it was just the two of them sitting on the living room floor, Ryou corporeal and the Spirit barely visible in the artificial light, he seemed thoughtful...and maybe even a little sad. _

_ Ryou wanted to reach out and touch him.  The Spirit hadn’t told him outright about the tragedy of Kul Elna, but Ryou was a bright kid and could add up all the parts.  The dreams had begun, too, and they were terrible.  The Spirit knew that Ryou was having them, but he hadn’t said anything.  Until now. _

_ “I had a sister too, you know.  She was older, though.”  Ryou couldn’t pass the right words from his brain to his tongue, so he just put down his craft knife and looked up from his work.  “My parents...I was very young, but they were good parents.  They loved each other very much.” _

_ And now Ryou was out of his depth.  This confession was already too much, too raw.  They barely spoke, and when they did, it was never personal, and often fraught with arguments.  The Spirit wasn’t looking at him, he was idly turning game pieces over in his hands, his mouth a tight line when he wasn’t speaking.  Ryou cleared his throat to find his voice. _

_ “It’s not fair,” he said meekly, and the Spirit looked up at him, curious but also prepared to challenge the next words Ryou spoke.  “I don’t...I don’t really agree with most of what you do, but I also...I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same way, that I wouldn’t do the same thing.”  The Spirit scoffed. _

_ “Don’t go pitying the man who is actively ruining your life, you idiot.  Get back to work, we’ve barely begun.”  And the discussion was over as soon as it had begun.  Ryou felt like crying, felt like holding this evil spirit who hated everyone, felt like telling him that he wasn’t alone. _

_ Neither of them was alone, for the first time in ages. _

_ But soon, that would change. _

 

And suddenly, Ryou was reaching into his bag, into that pocket that he generally avoided, and pulling out a small figure -- red-coated, scar-faced, with a fixed grimace.  He didn’t notice he was crying until a tear plopped itself right onto the figure’s tiny replica Millennium Ring.

 

~*~

 

Bakura awoke in an alley, outfitted in loose jeans, a thin T-shirt, and a red hooded jacket.  Beneath his head was a black backpack, and investigating its contents revealed a wallet with a modest amount of cash, a knife, and a scarf.  At least the Great Mother had given him some supplies to start out with, though Bakura wondered how far he could really get with such meager trappings.  Clearly, he was given just enough to use while working up the courage to confront his former host, the idea being that afterward they were somehow supposed to get along swimmingly.  Bakura scoffed, shoving the wallet into one denim pocket, the knife into the other.  He left the scarf - a thin, cream-colored scrap of cloth, really - in the bag and slung it over one shoulder.  First, he would take a trip to the Domino City Museum.

Bakura had no way of knowing, of course, that Ryou worked there, but he felt as though he needed someplace to ground him, a place to bridge the gap between where he had been and where he now was.  He moved from exhibit to exhibit in a daze, not really taking anything in.  He was still trying to wrap his mind around his situation, around the absurdity of being allowed to come back to the mortal plane after all the havoc he had wrought on humanity.  He snorted at a replica of a tomb painting depicting a hapless Egyptian being eaten by Ammit, with only a pair of dark legs protruding from the monster’s toothy maw.

He had been mostly alone throughout his tour of the museum, it being the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, but he suddenly heard a couple pairs of footsteps behind him, accompanied by a voice he knew all too well.

“...I’m sorry, I know I keep waffling on where the diorama should go.  Truth is, it’s currently broken and I’m not sure how accurate it even was to begin with.”

Bakura panicked and abruptly pulled up the hood of his jacket which, gods be praised, came out far enough around his face to hide his very distinct scar.  He wasn’t ready for this.  He hadn’t wanted this to begin with.  He had been toying with the idea of  _ never _ approaching Ryou at all and just skipping town.  His former host need never even know he was back.  Ryou could be spared that, he could live a normal life.  He sucked in a breath as the young man drew level with him, also gazing at the replica tomb painting, a young woman beside him with a clipboard.

Despite himself, Bakura couldn’t help but observe Ryou, who hadn’t seemed to notice him.  He had certainly grown up, and Bakura found himself wondering how much time had passed.  Ryou seemed to be working at the museum, so it had certainly been at least a few years.  He was dressed neatly but casually in dark, fitted jeans and a black shirt with a wide neck.  His hair was piled on his head in a loose, messy bun.  His companion was similarly casual, in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair up in a high ponytail.   _ Must be a laid-back place _ , Bakura thought, utilizing his very limited knowledge of corporate culture.

“Is there a way we can just display the best parts of it, or do you think you’ll have time to update it before the show opening?” asked Ryou’s partner.

“Well, I’ll have to take a closer look at it when I get home tonight.  It’s...well, it’s been at least five years, maybe more since I made it.”

Suddenly, Bakura knew what he was talking about - the game board from the Memory World.  The one that he had coerced Ryou into building.  The one upon which he had to relive his confrontation of the Pharaoh.  Five years, then.  Bakura shakily let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The two continued to chat business, and Bakura felt as though he should leave soon, lest he seem suspicious.  But he couldn’t really tear himself away, so he walked to a glass display of canopic jars that he could look through while seeming to take in the exhibit.

Ryou still absently twirled his hair while thinking, Bakura noticed.  He still spoke softly, still smiled with only his mouth, never his eyes.  He still had a huge scar on his left hand.  Doubtless, he also still had a scar on his upper arm, and several on his chest.  Bakura felt a pit open in his stomach.  There was no way he was going to be able to confront this kid - no, this  _ man _ \- and ask for forgiveness.  But still, he found he didn’t really want to leave Ryou alone, either.  Maybe it was because this young man was his only real link to this realm, the only person he felt he could trust.  Maybe it was the knowledge that, without the burning passion of revenge, Bakura was rather empty, lonely, and sad.  He pushed that thought out almost as quickly as it entered his head; he was low, but he didn’t want to think that even he could be that pathetic.  If only he still heard the ghosts….

Bakura decided that he would continue to observe Ryou for a few days before making a decision one way or another.  He was fairly confident that he could keep himself well enough hidden.  Being sneaky was, after all, his specialty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All Apologies" is a song by Nirvana. Credit to the original author(s) for the pull quote.


	3. Wasted

Chapter 3

Wasted

_I felt like I’d been wasted_

_All day long_

 

For the next three days, Ryou continued to feel strange.  His dreams were erratic and surreal, not the straightforward memories he was used to experiencing.  There were Egyptian gods, a splashing river, blazing fire, images of the Thief, the Thief’s mother, and Ryou’s own mother...and Amane.  But there was no thread, everything was a jumble, and Ryou would consistently wake up exhausted.

His appetite, too, was all over the place.  He would either feel nauseated or starving, and nothing that he consumed made him feel any sort of relief.  There didn’t seem to be enough tea in all of Japan to keep him feeling functional, but he was doing his best to drink all he could, regardless.

And through this all, there was the Memory World game board, which he worked on fixing up diligently, but which tortured him with its tainted past.  It was as he was fitting a piece of the board into the now roped-off exhibition room that he heard his name being called from down the hall.  Ran, one of the museum’s interns who had been helping him on this project, was leading a group toward him.  Ryou groaned inwardly when he saw Yugi, Anzu, Jou, and Honda excitedly rushing toward him.  He was in no place, physically or emotionally, to deal with socializing right now.  

And then he saw Atem.  He was almost convinced that he was imagining the haughty Pharaoh striding confidently alongside Yugi, clad in casual modern attire -- jeans and a t-shirt, smart boots and leather bracelets. But then Yugi rushed forward, speaking at an almost incomprehensible speed.

“Ryou, _look_ , Atem is back! He’s come back from the dead!  I’m so excited, we had to come find you right away, we had to let you know!”  Behind Yugi, Anzu, Jou, and Honda shifted uneasily, eying Ran, who had raised her eyebrows and glanced at Ryou.

“Just an expression,” Ryou assured her, smiling gently and then thanking her for bringing his friends to come see him.  Once she was out of sight (and earshot), Ryou turned his attention to Atem.  Truthfully, he hadn’t really missed the erstwhile ruler of Egypt.  Living with the Thief had given Ryou a healthy dose of skepticism in regards to public officials, and the Pharaoh was, understandably, the epitome of everything that the Thief had hated.

“You’re looking...well, all things considered,” Ryou tried.  How do you greet someone who should be dead?

“Thank you, Ryou,” Atem responded in that needlessly commanding way of his.  “You...also look well.”  This was a lie, and Ryou knew it.  The bags under his eyes would cost him extra if he tried to board a flight with them, his hair was making every attempt to flee the bonds of his hair elastic, and he had been moving exhibit pieces around for hours, and the dust from the artifacts clung to his sweat.  Regardless, Ryou thanked him, and then there was an awkward silence all around, until Anzu spoke up.

“We were thinking of doing a dinner thing, you know, to celebrate.  Do you think you can come?”  Ryou smiled at her, genuinely because he actually quite liked Anzu, and he sighed.

“I’m not sure tonight works for me, unfortunately.  I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather, and this upcoming exhibit has taken a lot out of me this week.  But I’d love to join you all next time!”  Silently, he thanked whatever gods were listening for the easy excuse.  There was a general murmur of “oh, that’s too bad” from the rest of the group, broken when noise could be heard from down the hall.

“Oh, Mr. Kaiba!  We weren’t expecting you so soon, the exhibit isn’t read--” Ran tried to halt the young CEO, but he came thundering down the hall, Ishizu and Malik Ishtar on his heels.

“ _Pharaoh_ ,” Kaiba hissed.  “I see you’ve made it back to this millennium.  You know what this means of course, don--”  This time he was cut off by Ishizu.

“Seto, you need to stop.  We have no idea why he’s back or for how long.”

“All the more reason to get this duel over with right _now_.”  

While Kaiba and Ishizu argued, and the group of friends turned their attention to inviting _them_ to dinner and thus ignoring Ryou, Malik sidled up to him.

“Hey kid.  You’re not looking so hot.”

“Good to see you, too, Ishtar.”

“Seriously, though.  Everything okay?”  Ryou sighed.  Of all of the people that Ryou had met through Yugi, Malik was the only one whom Ryou would really consider his friend, if it came down to that.  Malik had listened to Ryou, had sympathized with him when the others would have told him that he was wrong to feel the way he did -- about the Thief, and about himself.  Malik had been non-judgmental, had been kind, had also trusted Ryou enough to share his own woes.

“Come by tomorrow and we can talk about it?”  Ryou suggested.  Malik grinned and punched him gently in the arm.

“You bet.  Be there after lunch.”  With that, the two turned their attention back to the chaos at hand.

“What _are_ you doing here, anyway?” Ishizu was asking.

“It’s all rather vague,” Atem began.  “I was told by some woman that I needed to come back, that I was needed here in this time.  I didn’t have a chance to press the issue before I found myself in the alley behind the game shop.”  At this point, Ryou mostly tuned out of the conversation, which consisted of curious murmurs, more pleasantries, and finalizing plans for the dinner that he wasn’t attending.  When the chatter was winding down, he excused himself to finish up his work, and the gang left him to his own devices with nary a backward glance (except for one from Malik, who rolled his eyes and made crude gestures toward Atem behind his back).

 _The Pharaoh is needed in this time_ , Ryou thought to himself, wondering what that could mean.

 

~*~

 

Bakura had not been privy to the conversation going on within the walls of the museum, but he had been just sidling up to the building, considering going in for the fourth time that week.  He still hadn’t determined whether or not allowing Ryou to see him would be a good idea, but he also couldn’t seem to stay away from his former host.  He had been trying to stretch the little money he had as much as possible, buying only enough food for one decent-sized meal per day, and re-adjusting to sleeping while sitting up, generally on park benches in daylight hours.  He certainly looked the worse for wear, but he tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible and had thus far gone unnoticed.

When he saw the hateful Pharaoh stepping out of the Domino City Museum and into the glaring gray light of early evening, Bakura thought for _certain_ that he had been found out.  In the split second it took him to dodge behind a pillar, he had fabricated a whole scenario wherein Ryou had noticed that he was being followed, had gotten in touch with Yugi, and then the whole crew found some ancient ritual to bring back the only being who could defeat the evil tomb robber.

But once his heart stopped pounding in his ears, Bakura noted that no one had come after him, and the group that had exited the museum was now long gone.  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and decided, definitively, that he would _not_ be going into the museum today.  Instead, he circled around to an alley at the back of the building where he knew there was a fairly secluded vending machine and a couple of benches.  

Expecting the area to be vacant, he was surprised not only to see that there was someone sitting on a bench and smoking, but that that person was undoubtedly Ryou.  Even as he approached the bench from behind, he could recognize his former host’s frizzy white mop of hair, now let down from the messy bun it frequently lived in at work.  Bakura quietly situated himself in a dark corner where he could see Ryou’s face in profile.  His former host also had a can of beer that he seemed to have purchased from one of the machines not ten feet away.  Bakura tried to remind himself that he shouldn’t be too surprised by Ryou’s habits; after all, Ryou was no longer the naive teenager that Bakura had known him to be five years prior.  No, Ryou looked stressed and exhausted, and he clearly needed some way to wind down.  Despite the scare of seeing the Pharaoh, Bakura resolved to observe Ryou, out of both fascinated curiosity and the slightest hint of concern.

Ryou allowed his head to fall back onto the back of the bench, his face pointed up to the sky which looked ready to threaten rain again.  Would it ever stop raining?  He let out a stream of smoke before cursing, loudly.

“Bull _shit_.”  And then he grimaced, took another drag on his cigarette, and kicked a pebble.

“Fuck the fucking Pharaoh.”  Bakura was almost certain he had said the same exact thing to Ryou at some point, word for word.  “Fuck his fucking entourage.  Fuck their stupid fucking special friendships.  Fuck his stupid hair.”  Ryou put his can down and Bakura heard it clinking against another, probably empty, can.  He stubbed out the butt of his cigarette into his portable ashtray and then quickly lit another, sucking on it hard as tears started to form in his eyes.

“Fuck them all for coming out here to gloat.  Fuck them for inviting me to a dinner where I would have to sit with that conceited bastard and listen to his stupid fucking stories about the Afterlife.  Meanwhile, what’s-his-fucking-face was probably gobbled up by a monster and has left me all alone.  Fuck him, too, the damned thief.”  Bakura could hear Ryou sniffling as he bent his head forward again and brought his not-smoking hand up to his face.

“Malik is nice though,” Ryou whined gently to himself.  And then, “Fuck, why am I crying so much lately?”  He threw one of the empty cans against the wall, and that was when Bakura made what he hoped wouldn’t be a regrettable decision.  He stepped out of his dark corner and approached Ryou, who was now leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and struggling against his tears.

“Okay, Landlord, you’ve had enough.  I’m cutting you off,” Bakura said, trying to ignore his pounding heart and hoping that Ryou hadn’t noticed the slight waver in his voice.  The sobbing halted almost immediately, and Ryou wheeled his head up, all red-eyed and wet-cheeked, and gaped at the former Spirit of the Millennium Ring.

“...does alcohol make you hallucinate?” he asked dumbly after several awkward seconds.  Bakura sighed gently and glanced at the three empty beer cans -- two on the bench and the one that Ryou had pelted at the wall.  He sunk heavily onto the bench next to Ryou, who instantly grabbed his arm.

“What...what are you doing...here….”

“It’s a long story.”  Ryou’s eyes were filling up again.

“ _Fuck you_.  How long have you been floating around and ignoring me?”  Bakura shifted awkwardly.

“...a few days.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Look, I just --”

“No, _fuck_ your excuses, I just got accosted by the Atem Super Fan Club and made to feel like a lonely sad sack, and you’ve been flitting around Domino...with your own fucking _body_ and you _didn’t even bother to say hi_?”  

“Look, fine, okay!” Bakura shouted, “I’m an asshole!  But we already knew I was an asshole, so I’m not sure why you thought I’d show up at your door with flowers and chocolates just because I got kicked out of the Afterlife!”

“Oh, so the Pharaoh gets out because he’s ‘needed,’ but you were _kicked out_?  I’m glad to see not much has changed!”  They were fighting, and that’s not really how either of them would have wanted their reunion to go, at least not right off the bat, but at least it was something.  At least there was someone to fight with.  Ryou balled one hand into a fist (his cigarette had long since fallen to the pavement) and pounded it, weakly, against Bakura’s chest.

“How dare you show up when I’m a drunk sobbing mess!  How dare you waltz into my life like you’re going to fix all my fucking problems!  You think you know what’s best for me after all this time?”  Bakura just growled.  He could have stood for a little less of the abuse, but then he decided that maybe that would be asking too much, all things considered.  Instead of coming up with a retort, he lifted Ryou and tossed him over his shoulder.  Ryou protested, but not very persistently.

“Don’t forget my bag,” he finally muttered from his perch, and Bakura scooped down to retrieve it.

“I’m taking you home now, Landlord.”

“Good.  Fine.”  

A moment of silence, and then:

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wasted" is a song by the band Mazzy Star. Credit to the writer(s) for the quote.
> 
> Dreams are very important to me, in general, but especially when I think of Ryou and Bakura and their connection. There is a Japanese mythological creature called the baku, which eats dreams...the Pokemon Drowzee is based off this creature, for example. I always kind of wondered if Kazuki Takahashi intended for the "baku" in Bakura's name to have anything to do with that, especially when you consider how much the Millennium Ring looks like a dream catcher. So dreams and dream symbolism are big for me in my tender/gemshipping!
> 
> The portable ashtray I'm referring to in this chapter seems to be a common thing in Japan. It's a little pouch with a closure that smokers can snuff out and store their spent cigarettes in, in order to dispose of them properly when they're near a trash. It's kind of a wonderful invention -- if you've gotta smoke, there's no sense in littering!
> 
> There is something very rushed about this chapter that I'm having trouble figuring out how to fix. I may decide to come back to it in the future and rework some of the sloppier parts, but for now I wanted to put something up.


	4. No Rain

Chapter 4

No Rain

_All I can do is just pour some tea for two_

_And speak my point of view,_

_But it’s not sane_

 

Ryou woke up feeling like his eyeballs had burned through their sockets at some point in the night.  He vaguely remembered drinking three shitty beers in lieu of eating dinner, and he remembered some kind of waking dream where he had an argument with the Ring Spirit.  He wondered how he managed to get home and into bed, but he assumed that his body just kind of turned on autopilot when he was too tired to think about getting home.  

He really felt pathetic, though, dreaming up the Thief just because he was feeling lonely and drunk and bitter.  His mouth tasted of stale cigarettes, and his stomach was churning dreadfully.  He felt that he should get up, at least to make himself somewhat presentable before Malik came by.  He glanced at his alarm clock.  It was only ten in the morning, so he still had time to try to become human again.  He rolled out of bed and stumbled out the bedroom door, lurching toward the kitchen.  But what he saw there made him feel as though maybe he wasn’t ready to be awake yet.

Bakura was standing at the sink in Ryou’s red bathrobe, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets.  His back was to Ryou, but he turned when he heard his hungover companion stomping toward him.

“Morning, Sunshine.  Hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your bath and your robe.”  Ryou just shook his head dumbly, his burning eyes wide as saucers. Last night -- that had all been real.  He had actually yelled at this murderous fuck, and for some reason he was brought home and tucked into bed instead of being eviscerated on a park bench.  Suddenly, memories of how he had gotten home last night resurfaced.

 

_Throwing a person over your shoulder is not the most efficient mode of transportation, so Bakura had moved his charge onto his back.  Ryou, riding piggy-back through the streets of Domino, was half-asleep at this point, muttering and mumbling._

_“Mmm...missed you, Bacchan,” he said dreamily, pushing his nose into the back of the Thief’s neck.  “Where have you been?”  Bakura shifted Ryou’s body up a little bit on his back, his belly fluttering a little with the use of an old nickname._

_“Had some things to take care of Landlord,” he responded quiety._

_“Mmm,” was the only response, and then Ryou’s breath became soft and even._

 

Ryou’s headache intensified with throbbing embarrassment.  How childish he had been!  Was it a reversion because of the alcohol, or because the last time he had interaction with Bakura, Ryou had still been a teenager?  Whatever the case, he felt pathetic and disoriented.  He had, of course, envisioned what it would be like if the Thief were to return.  All those fantasies shone Ryou in a much more impressive light, the former host who had grown into a strong and independent adult.   _Best laid plans of mice and men_ , Ryou thought to himself.

Bakura looked both different and familiar at the same time.  He was, of course, dark-skinned and lithe, lean instead of scrawny.  His eyes were purple -- lavender, really -- fair and piercing.  A wicked scar traced his right cheek, and even though Ryou had already known it would be there, it surprised him in its intensity.  There were smaller scars glancing along his collarbone and whatever parts of his chest that the bathrobe failed to conceal.

“I, uh…” Ryou began, but the ease with which he had berated and praised his former parasite the night before had left his system with the alcohol.  Bakura shifted uneasily on his bare feet and sighed.

“I know I kind of just showed up out of nowhere.  I rinsed out my clothes last night, so as soon as they’re dry I’ll get out of your hair, don’t worry. I don’t expect any kind of hospitality. You don’t need to give me a second thought.”  Ryou observed that Bakura was putting on his usual haughty tone, but it seemed less menacing than it had before.

“...stay,” Ryou responded quietly, thickly.  Bakura snorted.

“You’re under no obligation to put up with me anymore, Landlord.  Don’t start feeling responsible for me or whatever.”  Ryou found some of the ire from last night coming back to him, inspiring him to find a voice again.  

“Don’t give me that,” he hissed, eyes narrowed to angry slits.  “You don’t get to call the shots anymore.  You’re not allowed to just waltz in and out of my life as you please.  You’re staying here now, because _I_ say so.  And when _I_ decide, I’ll kick you out.”  Ryou then lumbered over to the man standing by the sink.  He gripped the front of the robe and squinted into Bakura’s eyes, vaguely noticing that the two of them were approximately the same height.

“Zorc is gone, yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bakura responded, wide-eyed, clearly unaccustomed to this defiant creature who had taken on the guise of his generally reserved former host.  Ryou, too, felt a little dizzy with the excitement (or was that the hangover?).  They had argued before -- many, many times.  But they had never occupied the same physical space at the same time.  Ryou noted that under the smell of his own shampoo, Bakura had a distinct scent, warm and human and slightly musky.  The fact that Ryou could see Bakura breathing, his chest rising and falling beneath Ryou’s fist, was strange and new.  In the haze of alcohol the night before, he had grabbed Bakura’s arm, but he hadn’t been aware enough to process what that meant, or how it might change the nature of their relationship.  He relaxed his scrutinizing eyebrows and loosened his grip slightly without letting go of the terrycloth.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

“I told you, I was kicked out,” Bakura grunted, pulling the robe out of Ryou’s hand and resuming his search through the cabinets.  “Something about...how I wasn’t able to live a life free from Zorc’s influence, so my heart couldn’t be weighed properly.”  He shrugged, taking down two mugs.  Ryou leaned against the kitchen counter while Bakura busied himself making tea.

“So you get a second chance?”

“Apparently.”

“From...who, the gods?”

“Isis and Anubis specifically,” Bakura replied, opting not to mention Amane or what she had told him.  “I guess Ammit was there, too, but she doesn’t talk much.”

Ryou sighed, rubbing his temples and trying to process what he was being told.

“Do they know you’re actually an asshole, though?  Like, even without Zorc?” he finally ventured.

“I don’t have to make you a cup of tea, Landlord,” Bakura responded flatly, and Ryou smirked.

 

~*~

 

Ryou had decided that Bakura would need to get dressed sooner than his clothes would be dry, and that he could borrow some of Ryou’s own clothes. When Ryou passed over the previously unworn underwear, the dark jeans, and the gray T-shirt, Bakura immediately disrobed without a second thought.  Ryou turned his face away.

“What?  It’s not like I don’t know what you look like naked,” Bakura grunted, wiggling into the slim jeans.

“I suppose that’s true,” Ryou responded, shyly turning back in time to watch Bakura slide the shirt over his belly.  “I’m just not used to...other people.”  Bakura was slightly broader in the shoulders, but for the most part Ryou’s clothes fit, if a bit snugly.

“Isn’t Malik coming over soon?” Bakura asked skeptically.

“Yes, well, Malik is an exception.  But I’m not in the habit of watching him undress, either,” Ryou huffed.  Bakura just shrugged.  Ancient Egyptians didn’t have too many hang-ups about public nudity, and he didn’t see the point in starting to care now.

“We’ll have to find you some new clothes later,” Ryou stated matter-of-factly, turning to leave his bedroom.  “Any thoughts about finding a job? Or something to do with your time?”  

“I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  I keep expecting to wake up dead, honestly,” Bakura responded, following Ryou into the spare room where he kept his Monster World game board.  The board was covered in a sheet, and the entire table pushed into a far corner.  Ryou stood with his hands on his hips.

“You can stay in this room.  I have a futon that you can use, but if you want, we can get you a Western-style bed like mine.”

“As I said, don’t worry about me too much.  I’m not here to meddle in your life,” Bakura replied, and even he thought he sounded like a liar.  Ryou graced him with a skeptical glance.

“The only way I know how to make you feel uncomfortable is to be nice to you.  Let me have my fun,” he said, and that caused them both to flash near-identical smirks.  Bakura was glad to note that Ryou hadn’t lost his gentle-but-persistent sassiness.  He decided to say no more about the living arrangements.

“Besides,” Ryou continued, rooting around in a closet full of linens, “your mere existence kind of upends my entire life, regardless of your oh-so-noble intentions.  And that’s fine, though I am a little worried about everyone else finding out that you’re back.”  And almost as though it had been staged, there came a knock at the apartment door.  The two white-haired men exchanged a brief, panicked glance.

“I’ll stay out of sight,” Bakura offered.

“...no,” Ryou responded.  “He’ll want to know.  But...give me a few minutes to prep him.”  Bakura nodded, and Ryou left to answer the door.

 

~*~

 

Malik was a little early, but the previous night’s dinner had left him uneasy, and he felt the need to talk with Ryou as soon as possible.  When the bedraggled former keeper of the Millennium Ring answered the door with seeming trepidation, Malik was glad he had decided to show up ahead of schedule.

“Somehow, you look even worse than you did last night,” Malik said, by way of greeting.

“You always say the sweetest things,” Ryou shot back acidly, standing aside to let the other man in.

“Sorry,” Malik smirked.  “I _am_ pretty concerned, though.”

“...me, too,” Ryou said after a pause.  Malik gave Ryou a sidelong glance and followed him into the living area.  It was dark, the curtains all drawn shut.

“No wonder you look dead -- it’s a mausoleum in here!”  Malik threw back a curtain, and Ryou hissed, covering his eyes.  “...fucking vampire,” Malik muttered, opting to leave the curtain open only a small fraction instead of throwing it wide like he wanted.

“I have a hangover,” Ryou replied, noting that the rain seemed to have finally stopped.  Malik just rolled his eyes.

“Went on a bender because you’re sad that the Pharaoh is back, and you’re all alone?” Malik observed, flopping down on the couch.  Ryou sat at the other end, shifting uneasily.

“Well, I _was_ sad, but….” he trailed off, and Malik raised an eyebrow.

“But?”

“Maybe I should just show you,” Ryou responded, and then glanced up at something behind Malik, who turned around.

Leaning in the doorway, looking for all the world like an over-sized stray cat, was the self-named King of Thieves.  He had looked different when Malik had worked with him years before (had looked very much  like Ryou, in fact), but the laconic slide of his eyes and his fluid body language were unmistakable.

“Long time, no see,” the thief said, and Malik wasn’t sure whether to laugh, scream, or melt into a puddle on the floor.

“What the ever loving _fuck_ ,” he finally breathed.

“Glad to see you, too,” Bakura replied, pushing off from the door frame and making his way to an overstuffed armchair.  “I thought you were supposed to ‘prep’ him,” he added to Ryou, who shrugged sheepishly.

“You seem a lot more surprised than you did about the Pharaoh,” Ryou observed.  Malik was still staring, saucer-eyed, at Bakura.

“Well, I was surprised about that, but he’s got this whole... _destiny_ thing going on, and he had some vague mystical story about being ‘needed’ in this time or whatever.  Which I wanted to talk to you about, but...well, my sister was feeling weird at dinner last night, said she wondered if it had anything to do with why Atem was back….”  Malik trailed off, and Bakura scoffed.

“Don’t blame me for the Pharaoh coming back.  I’m alone this time!”  Ryou then proceeded to tell Malik what Bakura had told him about why he had returned, and all the while Malik’s gaze never broke from Bakura’s face.  He believed Ryou, and Bakura if it came to that, but he just couldn’t believe it.  He had spent _years_ commiserating with Ryou about missing the thief, each in their own weird, somewhat masochistic way.  But he had never, ever dreamed he would see the man again -- and in his own body, no less!

Malik could tell that Ryou and Bakura were still talking, trying to decide how best to negotiate the inevitable meeting between the Thief and the Pharaoh.  But he was suddenly hyper-aware of his own body in this space between these two men.  When Malik first met Bakura, Ryou was an afterthought, and their partnership was a bright spot for Malik at a dark, tumultuous point in his life.  When the chips were down, Bakura had chosen to save Ryou, and he probably always would.  For a while, Malik had resented that, but then Bakura had supposedly died and Malik was there to help Ryou through his grief.  And Malik’s affection (or perhaps selfish desire) for Bakura had faded and evolved into a desire to be with Ryou.  They became close friends, but Malik always knew that Ryou could never really commit himself to anyone.

Except the person who had come back from the dead.  The person who was sitting, _in his own goddamn body, Ra be damned_ , not five feet away from Malik right this minute.  And he was beautiful.  And Ryou, curled up at the other end of the couch with his frizzy hair and his bony knees pulled up to his chin, surely knew that Bakura was beautiful, too, because his nervous eyes flicked across the movement of the man’s lips every time Bakura spoke.  Malik cursed himself and decided to join in the conversation.

“So wait...is this why you’ve been a mess all week?”

“Well, I told you, he only made himself known last night,” Ryou responded.

“What’s this about being a mess?” Bakura shot, and Ryou raised his hands in supplication.

“I just wasn’t feeling well.  Lack of sleep, bad...dreams….”  Ryou trailed off as he realized that, actually, the dreams probably had had something to do with Bakura being back. Bakura grunted.

“You always did have a lot of nightmares.  Thought you would have grown out of that by now.”

“Oh yes, it’s so easy to stop having nightmares after the evil spirit that has inhabited your body for your entire teenage life dies and disappears without any warning, so you’re not sure whether to feel relieved or worry that he’ll come back at any given moment and continue to terrorize you,” Ryou scowled.  Malik knew by this point that Ryou wasn’t always the perfect, polite angel that he often acted around Yugi and friends, but he had never considered that Ryou would feel brave enough to talk back to Bakura like that.  Apparently, there was a lot he didn’t know about their relationship, which made sense considering he had only ever dealt with them separately.  He wondered, vaguely, where he fit into this relationship.  Friend to both?  Third wheel?  Competition for affection? Even he wasn’t sure what he felt anymore.

“Anyway,” Bakura pressed on, “I would honestly like to avoid seeing the Pharaoh at all, if possible.  I don’t want to deal with his….” he trailed off, grasping for the right word.

“Hubris?  Self-righteous self-importance?  Conceitedness?” Ryou offered, waving a thin hand in the air.  Malik chuckled.

“Peas in a pod, you two.  Man, this is really weird for me,” he offered.  

“Consider how I feel about it,” Ryou mumbled, stretching the fingers of his scarred left hand.

“Or me.  I’m supposed to be dead!”  They all paused and looked at each other for several long seconds before Malik broke out into laughter again.  The two white-haired men joined him after a time, because really...could it get any more absurd?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "No Rain" is by the band Blind Melon. Credit for the quote belongs to the original writer(s).
> 
> Well, this is kind of a long chapter! Three parts instead of two, and a new player arrives!
> 
> I have mixed feelings about my portrayal of Ryou and Bakura's relationship. I kind of wanted it to start out a little more frigid and gradually warm up, but I just really love them snarking at each other all the time. I like to think that's a thing that happened a lot when they were sharing Ryou's body.
> 
> For reference, and not that it's important or relevant, but my headcanon for Ryou is that he's mixed race -- half white English and half Japanese. I grew up with the Yugioh dub, so I can't shake the Britishness of him, so that may or may not show up in some of his language/habits.
> 
> And Malik. Oh, poor Malik. Once upon my teenagehood, I started out as an angstshipper. I'm pretty much thoroughly *not* into that anymore, but I do love Malik. I think he's got a lot of interesting psychology going on, and I bet he's really good at reading other people's emotions. I hope he ends up happy by the end of this fic, haha.
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much for your support in the form of both kudos and comments! The verbal feedback is very helpful, as it allows me to keep what's working well and work on the areas I lack. You've all been so encouraging! I appreciate it very much.
> 
> Here's hoping I'll get another chapter up before three months. :P


	5. Hungry Ghost

Chapter 5

Hungry Ghost

_ I’ve been nobody’s child _

_ So my blood started running wild _

_ I’ve been a hungry ghost _

 

Malik left Ryou’s apartment late in the afternoon, after the three of them had come up with every likely scenario for Bakura and Atem’s eventual meeting.  They hadn’t come to many conclusions in that regard, but they had started to form a plan to help Bakura integrate into modern Japanese society, reluctant though Bakura might feel about doing just that.

Ryou had given Bakura some money to go out and buy some clothing, and was now clearing up the dishes from a shared take-out meal.  As he packaged up leftovers, he mused about how strangely normal everything felt.

By rights, he should be out of his mind right now, either with fear or excitement or anger, or some combination of all three.  But instead he felt normal.  Better than normal, even -- perhaps he was happy?  Somehow, it felt as though the spectre of his grief and anxiety had just lifted the moment he had walked into the kitchen not even six hours ago.

It occurred to Ryou, vaguely, that this sense of calm was perhaps worth worrying about.  How many times had he cried to Malik about how lonely he was?  About how hard it was to adjust to the silence?  About how empty his heart felt?  How many times had he worked long hours or played the radio extra loud or gone out to see a movie by himself to avoid the nagging emptiness?

And now the apartment was empty again, but the air had shifted.  There was a someone-else-belongs-here feeling, a feeling of he’ll-be-home-soon.  Ryou assumed that this must be what it’s like to live with family, but he had been alone so long he had forgotten what it was like.

He was washing out some juice glasses when he noticed he had been humming a lullaby he had heard once, long ago, in a dream.

 

~*~

 

Bakura had been reluctant to take Ryou’s money, but his former host had been insistent, reminding him that it would be more of an inconvenience for Ryou if Bakura thought he could just keep borrowing all of his clothes.  He had been surprised at how easily he remembered his way around Domino, and that he somehow knew which stores would be more affordable and which ones he should avoid.  For some reason that he couldn’t ascertain and that annoyed him, he had decided upon his return that he wouldn’t steal anything if he could avoid it, and so he was keeping strictly to the budget that Ryou had allotted him.  There was some talk of him getting a job in the near future, so he could theoretically pay Ryou back what he owed, and then maybe start paying rent.  Bakura snorted.

_ So he has become my real landlord after all _ , he mused as he pulled aside T-shirts on a rack to determine what size would best fit his frame.  He frowned.  He was going to have to try things on, and that sounded like more of a chore than he had been anticipating.  He was also increasingly aware that many of the store staff were staring at him -- and in particular at his scar.  He sighed, grabbed a shirt off the rack, and continued to make the rounds.

When he had amassed a small pile of clothing, he made his way over to a section of curtained dressing rooms, where a young lady assisted him in finding an empty room and informed him that she would be willing to help him if he needed anything.  Bakura couldn’t tell whether she was eager or nervous, but either way he noticed that she continued to hover around his dressing room long after he had made it clear that he didn’t need her opinion on his choices.

He observed that he had picked out clothing in mostly blacks and grays, unless the article came in red.  It was an intimidating, powerful color, and he noted somewhat sheepishly that wearing red made him feel more like his old self, minus the homicidal tendencies.  Maybe he needed something familiar right now, he mused, something to keep him grounded when everything around him kept pulling him along.

Bakura wasn’t sure yet exactly how he felt about being with Ryou again.  The other man seemed remarkably sanguine about it, considering how badly Bakura had fucked up his life.  But he didn’t feel deserving of a second chance, certainly.  The knowledge of what he had done weighed more and more heavily on Bakura’s mind every day; Ryou may have had time to process all of that pain, but Bakura had been too focused on shoving it down inside him and preparing for sweet oblivion.

With his back to the mirror, Bakura took off a red sweater he had been trying on and saw the scars on his back.  Whip scars, from the Royal Guard.  There were other scars all over, from fights and falls and booby trapped tombs.  But the ones on his back were a painful reminder of a time when he was too weak to fight back, a time when he stole because he was starving and alone, not because he was angry and greedy.  It was easier to be angry and greedy, he remembered, but now he couldn’t work up the energy to sustain the kind of rage necessary to bear the title of Thief King.

Bakura cursed the gods gently as he wrapped up his shopping trip.

 

~*~

 

On Monday morning, Ryou ushered Bakura into Ishizu Ishtar’s office at the Domino City Museum.  Ishizu was on the phone, but she waved the two white-haired men in and motioned for them to shut the door and have a seat.  Once they had, Ryou observed that Bakura was sitting at the very edge of his chair, fiddling absently with one of the gold hoop earrings he had borrowed from Malik.  He would get some of his own once he had the money, but for now a single pair hung from his lobes, though Ryou had noticed there were more empty holes in both of his ears.  Bakura had commented, too, that a pair of earrings was his minimum where jewelry was concerned, which had led Ryou to wonder about what other preferences and habits the erstwhile Thief King might have.

“Sorry about that, gentlemen,” Ishizu finally said, laying her phone back into its receiver and pulling Ryou out of his reverie.  She blinked slowly and shifted her gaze between the two of them, fixing upon Bakura.

“And what should I be calling you?” she asked him stiffly.  “Surely you have a name of your own?”  Ryou watched Bakura shift uneasily and recalled that in ancient times, knowing someone’s name meant that you could control them with powerful magic.  With the Pharaoh back, Bakura’s true name being public knowledge would be extremely dangerous. 

“You can just call him Bakura, that’s fine right?” Ryou said, half to Ishizu and half to Bakura.  The latter nodded, looking markedly relieved.

“Okay, Bakura then,” Ishizu continued.  “There is, of course, the issue of a family name, but I have an idea about that as well.”  With this she leaned forward, glancing to make sure the door to her office was closed.  “Ryou, what you’re asking of me, and of Seto, is very serious.  Are you truly confident that Bakura can be trusted?”

“Yes,” Ryou replied firmly.  They had been over this on the phone, and Malik had talked with his sister about it as well, but Ryou understood Ishizu’s hesitance.  She nodded.

“That’s what I thought, I also feel no ill will,” she responded, turning azure eyes to the man in question who, Ryou thought, looked pale.  “As far as anyone is concerned, you are mine and Malik’s cousin, Bakura Ishtar.  You have come to Domino to help us work on this newest exhibition.”

“What exactly will I have to do?” Bakura asked in a measured tone, as though afraid of saying something out of turn.

“That depends on your abilities,” Ishizu responded, leaning back in her chair again.  “What languages do you speak and read?”

“I obviously speak what you would call ‘ancient’ Egyptian,” Bakura began, “though I can’t read or write it.”

“Of course,” Ishizu nodded, steepling her fingers.  “And you speak Japanese.”

“Yes, and some English, and read some of both.”  

“No Arabic?” Ishizu asked, one shapely eyebrow raised.

“I learned that after he was gone,” Ryou interjected, knowing that Bakura would only know whatever Ryou had known as a teenager.  “I can teach him, and I can teach him how to read hieroglyphs.”  Ishizu nodded again.

“Ryou knows this already, but part of what we’re exhibiting here within the next couple of months is a recent archaeological find that I think will pique your interest,” Ishizu remarked.  “In fact, I think you will be a particularly valuable consultant on this exhibit.”  Bakura raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Ishizu glanced at Ryou. “You want to tell him?”  Ryou took a deep breath, and turned to face Bakura head-on.  He had been wondering how to broach this subject for a while now, and ideally he would have done it without Ishizu watching.  But either he told Bakura or Ishizu did, and he rather felt it was his responsibility.

“Bacchan,” he began softly, and then swallowed nervously.  Bakura was fixing him with knitted brows.  “Bacchan, archaeologists have found...well, what they believe is...Kul Elna.”  

Bakura’s expression was one that Ryou had seen him wear before, but only in dreams: that of a lost, scared child, alone in the desert.

 

~*~

 

Bakura and Ryou were led to the storage room full of crates of artifacts.  Ishizu unlocked the door and the three stepped inside, Bakura fighting to keep his whole body from shaking.  Three thousand years with nothing but ghosts, and suddenly his village had been unearthed.  What had they found?  There hadn’t been much left, after the royal guards were through with it.

But here were crates of stuff, some marked in multiple languages with KUL ELNA in bright red paint.  Bakura could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel his pulse in his head and his hands.  He vaguely heard Ryou ask Ishizu quietly if the two of them could leave him alone to be with the artifacts.  Ishizu seemed to agree, and the two turned to leave.

Bakura reached out and snagged Ryou’s arm without looking.

“Please stay,” he murmured, hating himself for being weak but knowing,  _ knowing _ in his bones that he couldn’t face this alone, and that Ryou could at least be trusted to not repeat anything he saw.  Ryou’s response was to simply rest a hand on Bakura’s upper arm.  They heard the door click shut behind them, and Bakura sank to his knees in front of the first stack of boxes.

Lifting the lid of the first crate, he sifted through layers of straw and styrofoam before his fingers brushed something smooth.  He lifted out a shard of broken pottery.  He didn’t recognize it in particular, but did notice the color of the clay matched the clay to be found around his hometown.  His belly fluttered.

“The most popular stories about ancient Egypt these days,” Ryou began quietly, “concentrate around the wealthy classes.  There is a dearth of information about smaller villages, and it’s our goal to bring the stories of the less privileged to light.”  He had walked a little deeper into the storage room and was lifting the lid off of a crate at the top of a three-high stack.  “There are...records, you know.  Of what happened at Kul Elna.  I haven’t told Yugi yet….”  He trailed off, his hands rummaging in the crate.

“Why should he care anyway,” Bakura responded, more breathily than he was hoping to.  He stood slowly and walked over to Ryou.

“I thought you’d want to see this.  I...recognized it immediately.”  Ryou then pulled out a small stone carving -- a little tan camel with small black pebbles for eyes.  Bakura inhaled deeply and reached out for it, memories of playing with his sister flooding back into his thoughts, memories that he had buried for millennia.  He wasn’t able to cry, he noted; he was out of practice, or perhaps he had simply run out of tears a long, long time ago.  But his chest was aching as he rested the camel against it.  Ryou put his hand on top of both of Bakura’s.

“Akefia,” he said, and Bakura felt goosebumps hearing his name for the first time since his mother had screamed for him to stay hidden.  “I never saw a stone camel here with the rest of the exhibit.  It must have gotten left in Egypt, or lost on the voyage over,” Ryou continued pointedly, his eyes boring straight into Bakura’s, eyebrows raised in a silent plea for the scarred man to understand.  Bakura nodded.

“No, that would be too uncanny,” he responded, slipping the camel into his pocket.  “But why are you doing all this for me, anyway?”  Ryou sighed.

“Don’t forget that I’ve seen Kul Elna.  You lost...you lost so much, and I’m not unaware of what that feels like.”  Ryou shifted uneasily.  “I can’t honestly say I wouldn’t have done the same, had our circumstances been swapped.  And I...as each year passes, I find myself angrier and angrier that everyone worked so hard to give the Pharaoh a happy ending, but no one thought to consider your pain.  Or mine.”  Ryou paused, running a hand through his hair.  “Also, you don’t have to do this -- take this job.  Not if it’s going to be too hard.”

Bakura stepped forward, closing the already small distance between them, and lifted a hand to Ryou’s cheek.  He couldn’t explain why he felt the need for closeness, but he found he didn’t regret it when Ryou’s brown eyes lifted and looked directly into his, their noses maybe two inches apart.

“I...thank you,” Bakura said, “I’ll take the job.  It’s...not easy, to be here with all this, and to relive it as I touch each piece, but I….”  He trailed off, breaking his gaze.

“There’s a lot you need to face, I think,” Ryou said, leaning in to Bakura’s hand and smiling softly.  “And I know it’s not the same as taking your revenge, but you...you don’t have to do this alone.  I can help.”  Bakura looked back up and realized that his body was getting ready to move him even closer to his companion when Ryou suddenly perked up and stepped back out of his reach.

“Well!  I’m sure Ishizu will wonder what we’re up to in here, so we best get out there and tell her you’re up to the challenge!”  The shift in the atmosphere seemed almost palpable to Bakura, and he knew that the two of them would never be talking about this conversation again.  Just as well, he thought, since he was finally starting to feel the sting of embarrassment wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "Hungry Ghost" is by Hooray For the Riff Raff, and I take no credit for the pull quote.
> 
> Whew, I finally finished the next chapter! I've been having some trouble with the pacing of events, so I've tried reworking this chapter a few times in light of that. I have a very basic outline in my head of how I want things to go, so the challenge in filling in the little details, and playing with relationships.
> 
> Ta-daaa, we hear Bakura's real name! I know that some folks have a problem with "Akefia" being used because it was the product of a fan misunderstanding, but he's gotta have some kind of name, and that one is already easily recognizable. The bit where knowing someone's name gives you power over them is a true concept, pretty sure it's referenced in the Bible, among other places. I always assumed that's why we kind of never knew the Ring Spirit's true name. (Maybe I'm giving Takahashi too much credit. :P)
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for your continued support, and for waiting so patiently for this chapter to go up. Things are getting a little dark since we're looking at Bakura's ~feelings~ a bit more closely, but I promise there will be more interesting *stuff* happening soon, not just a whole lot of sadtimes.


	6. I Get Low

Chapter 6

I Get Low

_ If I could I would turn _

_ Back into dust _

_ You would look so good to me _

_ I could almost taste it _

_ One moment I'm a king _

_ The next minute I'm nothing _

_ I just wanted to feel alright _

_ But it's not that simple _

 

When Bakura had first disappeared, Ryou had begged any entity who would listen for his companion to return.  He had always had an affinity for the occult, the arcane, and the unknown. He buried himself in it for the better part of six months.  And though it had seemed to be all in vain at the time, he had a hard time letting go of some of those habits. So it was that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, shuffling through his Tarot deck and reflecting on the past week while lighting one stick of incense off the remains of the last.

The conversation that he and Bakura had had in the storage room at the Domino City Museum was taboo, he knew.  Bakura had very abruptly gone back to business-as-usual as soon as they stepped back through the door and reconvened with Ishizu.  He was still remarkably civil toward Ryou, and their working relationship was a lot better than Ryou could have pictured it. The two of them were separate for most of the work day, with Ryou tinkering away in his office at plans and models while Bakura was given the rundown of how exhibits were put together and how he could be of use.  When Ryou looked in on him Wednesday afternoon, Bakura was poking at the old pieces Millennium World diorama that Ryou had deemed decent enough to leave as they were.

“I can’t believe you saved this thing,” Bakura muttered, not turning around as Ryou approached him from behind.  Ryou shifted on his feet, wondering how Bakura would feel if he knew that his own miniature likeness was tucked securely into a zipped pocket in Ryou’s everyday bag.

“I worked hard on it,” he had responded softly, and Bakura nodded.

“You worked too hard on it, all things considered,” he responded and stood up with a sigh.  “I guess it has its uses now, anyway. Ishizu tells me you’re using the information they’ve dug up to adjust the broken pieces.”

“Yes, though I expect you’ll be able to give me some insight where archaeologists don’t have the full picture.  If you’re willing.” All their conversations were like this, gentle and strained, like they were tip-toeing around anything too personal, anything that might expose their feelings any more than they already had.

Bakura was, in many ways, very different from what Ryou had remembered.  Without Zorc, he was mostly quiet and serious, though he still had a severe side and a dark sense of humor -- if he ever decided to partake in humor.  He kept to himself a lot, making it difficult for Ryou to know what he was thinking. Occasionally, they would occupy the same room, each quietly doing their own thing, but mostly Bakura holed himself up in the spare bedroom, on his futon in a nest of blankets, flipping through Arabic text books and leaving Ryou to worry alone.

_ What am I supposed to make of all this _ , Ryou wondered, still shuffling his cards absently.   _ What am I supposed to make of him?   _ A card, smaller than the others, slid out of the deck and onto the floor, facedown.  Somehow, a Duel Monsters card had been wedged inside his Tarot deck; Ryou bent to pick it up.

It was the Change of Heart.

Ryou stared at it, wide-eyed, for a fraction of a second before launching into a frenzied cackle.   _ Of course _ , he thought.   _ Of course _ .  He had no idea what it was supposed to mean, but then he had never had as good a handle on cartomancy as Bakura had.

He was pulled out of his hysteria by a knock at the door, and then a familiar voice calling out, “It’s me!”  Malik let himself in and Ryou quickly stuffed the card back into the deck and propped himself up better on the couch so he could see his friend as he walked further into the apartment.

“Howdy there, little white witch,” Malik teased, approaching the couch from behind.  “You haven’t played with those in a while, eh?” Ryou smiled and shifted to grab the cards’ box off of the coffee table.

“Just doing some reflecting,” he responded, nestling the deck into a simple dark wooden box.  Malik walked around the couch and flopped down next to his friend.

“How are things with His Evil Majesty?” he drawled, tucking his feet up like Ryou had done and allowing their toes to press gently against each other.  Ryou rolled his eyes.

“Pretty good, actually.  I think he’s a little...depressed?  He’s really quiet most of the time, I think he’s repressing a lot….”  Ryou was cut off by Malik’s hearty guffaw.

“I’m shocked!  To think that the sole survivor of a genocide whose plans for revenge came to naught  might be repressing anything, unimaginable!” He pushed his feet forward into Ryou’s a little more.  “Give him a couple weeks, I’m sure he’ll be well on his way to burning down Domino in no time.”

“Shh!” Ryou scolded, pushing back.  “He’s just in the other room, you know.”  No sooner had he whispered that than Bakura appeared in the entrance to the living room, book in hand.

“Landlord, I’m having trouble with - ah!” Bakura looked up from his textbook and saw Malik.  “Arabic is your first language, right? What the hell is going on in this example?” he asked, leaning down to show Malik the book.  Malik, for his part, looked utterly distracted by Bakura’s toplessness to bother glancing at the page.

“Uhhhh, is that a bellybutton ring?” Malik asked stupidly, and it was Ryou found himself cackling again.  Bakura sighed.

“Leave my bellybutton out of it, Malik, I need help.”  Ryou stifled his laughter and addressed his roommate.

“Bacchan, we were thinking of going out to eat, you’re probably going to want to go put a shirt on anyway.  Take a break, you’ve been studying all day.” Bakura grunted his assent and wandered off to comply. Malik blinked out of his shock.

“You weren’t kidding, he really is acting kind of strange.  Was he asking me for grammar advice just then?” Ryou covered his face with his hands.

“Can’t you focus?” he sighed.

“Not when you have a hot, bellybutton-pierced ex-thief wandering half naked around your apartment!” Malik hissed. “Holy Horus, how are you not bothered by this?”  Ryou straightened up a bit, carefully looking away from Malik.

“I just...have a better lid on my emotions than you, I guess.” he responded.  Malik grinned.

“Oh, I see.  It’s got you going too, under all those layers of proper Anglo-Japanese politeness.  Is it weird to have the hots for someone who lived inside your mind?” he teased, and Ryou turned positively pink.

“It’s not like that!” he shot back, knowing full well that he wasn’t being completely honest.  “I’m just used to it, he does it a lot.”

Malik just kept grinning.  

“Sure, okay,” he said, and before he could wheedle Ryou further, there was another knock at the door.

“That’s weird, I’m not expecting anyone,” Ryou said, somewhat grateful for the interruption.  He unfolded himself from the couch to investigate.

When he opened the door, Anzu was beaming back at him from the other side.

“Hey, Ryou!” she exclaimed. “I was in town for a dance event and thought I’d stop by on my way home to see how you were doing!”  Before Ryou could so much as say hello, she had sidled her way inside and was taking off her shoes.

“Uh, thanks, Anzu but --”

“I thought maybe I could take you out for dinner?  You’ve seemed really stressed and busy with work lately,” she continued, walking past the entranceway and into the living room.  Ryou started to panic. He liked Anzu, she was sweet and kind and always had the very best of intentions. But she had a way of getting her nose into everything that on a normal day would be slightly annoying at best, but at the current moment when Bakura was dressing himself not thirty feet away from them, he regretted never learning to tell her to butt out.  How many times had she set him up on dates he wasn’t interested in, under the pretense that she wanted him to be happy? And he had been completely disinterested, but he had gone to please her, because she was trying to help, but now...well, he had no defense.

“Oh, hi Malik!” she said upon entering the living room.  Malik smiled at her wanly and then looked up past her shoulder at Ryou with wide eyes.

“Ha ha, hiiiiii, Anzu.  What brings you here?” he said stiffly, and Ryou noticed that he had begun to grow pale.  Anzu opened her mouth to respond to Malik but immediately shut it when Bakura came back into the room, this time wearing a fitted aubergine t-shirt and running a hand through his unkempt hair.  Their eyes locked, and Ryou watched Bakura freeze and go pale, too.

“Uhhhhh,” was all that Bakura could say.  Anzu’s eyes were like dinner plates. Ryou rushed the rest of the way into the room to stand between Bakura and the couch.

“Um, Anzu, I’m sorry, this is really...it’s pretty overwhelming, and I want you to know that we were planning on telling you and everyone else about this really soon,” Ryou vomited out the lies as fast as he possibly could; their real plan was to avoid the Pharaoh and his fan club for as long as possible, assuming they’d find a way to deal with it when the situation arose.  It wasn’t a good plan, but none of them had wanted to dwell on it for too long. Malik shifted to kneeling and rested a hand on Anzu’s shoulder over the back of the couch.

“It’s, uh, not as...bad as it seems?” he ventured, but Anzu appeared unmoved by his platitudes.

“Ba...Bakura?” she asked, her peppy attitude completely diminished.  Ryou turned to look back at Bakura, who swallowed hard and dropped his hand from his hair.

“Anzu,” he responded quietly.  “I…” 

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, her hands and her voice shaking.  Malik stood and guided her to sit on the couch while the three men prepared to tell her everything.

 

~*~

 

Anzu listened as Ryou and Malik regaled her with the details of the Thief King’s return.  Bakura, for his part, perched on the edge of an armchair looking remarkably uncomfortable.  Anzu could hear all the explanations, all the “Zorc is gone,” “Bakura’s not evi- well, he’s not _ as _ bad,” the assurances that she was safe now, that there was nothing to worry about.  And she wanted to believe them, but she was scared.

Anzu remembered having her soul trapped in a game piece, remembered being used as part of Bakura and Malik’s evil ploy, remembered being thrown into the Millennium World and watching Atem face off against this fearsome thief.  She was able, much much later, to separate her friend Bakura (whom she now called Ryou) from the spirit possessing his body, but she was having a harder time understanding how that spirit, too, had been possessed. She knew about Kul Elna, she knew about Ryou’s struggle to accept the final outcome of the Millennium World game.  And as she watched the strange man sitting across the room from her, she was trying to understand how he was anything other than a villain, despite all she was told.

How good of an actor was he, she wondered to herself.  Many times she had mistaken him for Ryou, so was he acting on his best behavior now, to trip them all up later?  Or was this discomfort and...fear?...she was sensing from him -- was that real? He glanced up at her, taking her by surprise.  She realized that all the talking had stopped, and she was still struggling to process everything. Bakura seemed to be struggling with something, too.

“You have no reason to trust me,” he finally said.  “I wouldn’t, if I was in your position. Not entirely sure why these idiots do.”  He paused. “I can’t really expect you to do me any favors, but...if you could keep this whole thing quiet for now, I think that would be in their best interest.”  She nodded. She didn’t have to trust him, but she did have friends who she wanted to protect. That made sense.

“What...what is it you want?” she asked him after another long pause.  He shifted in his chair.

“Oblivion,” he responded, almost too quickly.  “But I guess I don’t get to disappear until I appease the gods.”  She looked at him again, more closely this time. He looked tired -- real, bone-tired, a kind that is hard to fake.  She wondered now how she had ever confused him for Ryou, ignoring the fact that he literally had Ryou’s face at the time.  His eyes were wild and pained, his little tics and habits were different from Ryou’s. Ryou twirled his hair, Bakura ran his hands through his; Ryou nibbled his fingernails, Bakura cracked his knuckles.  They were so, so similar in so many ways, but they were also much more distinct than she had ever taken the time to notice. 

“I can fend for myself for dinner if you all want to go out,” Bakura said, turning to Ryou, who nodded sheepishly.

“No!” Anzu interrupted, surprising even herself.  “No, you should come….” All three men fixed her with quizzical expressions.  She shrugged.

“This is the way things are, so...I guess I should give you a chance,” she responded, uncertain of her own reasoning.  Bakura shrugged.

“I’m easy, as long as I get dinner,” he responded, rising.

“Let’s do the pub!” Malik replied, also rising, and the tense air that had descended upon the room shifted.  Ryou turned to look at Anzu.

“Thank you for this,” he said, sincerely.  “Please, don’t force yourself. You do a lot for me already.”  Anzu shook her head.

“I trust you,” she said.  “And I want to understand.”

But understanding, Anzu realized, was going to be a challenge, as each new action and interaction just confused her further.  She was accustomed to being “out with the boys,” as she had somehow managed to maintain friendships mostly with men for much of her life since adolescence.  But where Jou and Honda would play-wrestle with each other and tease Yugi about sex, this group of guys seemed to prefer talking about Arabic grammatical structure, ancient pottery, and how Bakura’s navel piercing (what?!) was a big “fuck you” to the Pharaoh.  They called Atem that, too, just “the Pharaoh,” as though he didn’t have a name.

The pub that Malik had chosen was only a couple blocks away, a small mom-and-pop place with seats either at the counter or in small wooden booths with bare benches.  It was one of these booths that the four of them settled into, Anzu on an inside seat next to Malik, with Ryou directly across from her, and Bakura next to him.

She was surprised to see Ryou order a beer along with the others, though she was also partaking herself.  They opted to order a bunch of small plates to share, various fried meats and pickles and battered seafood.  She rarely allowed herself to eat so much, and so much that was questionable in its nutritional value, but she realized halfway through their meal that she was enjoying herself more than she had at the dinner to celebrate Atem’s return.

She had thought, initially, that seeing Atem again would reignite her teenage fascination with him, that she would finally be able to pursue a romance with him now that he had his own body.  But Anzu, always mature for her age, had grown up even more in her approach toward love, and Atem somehow fell short. She had watched him acting  _ exactly the same _ as he had when she knew him five years before -- a little self-important, a little smug, traits that had seemed like confidence at the time but which smacked of defensive insecurity now that she was more world-wise.  She had watched Yugi hang on Atem’s every word, and though she was glad that his loneliness seemed to be soothed, she was sad for him, as well, always being overshadowed by this man whose mystical destiny seemed to take precedence over everything else.

Anzu had felt badly at the time, thinking that maybe she was just struggling to come to terms with the fact that she had moved on, or that maybe this whole situation was just a little weird for her to come to grips with it right away.  But as she watched Ryou and Bakura interacting, though she could sense there was a little bit of awkwardness between them, it was a shared awkwardness. Bakura wasn’t dominating the conversation, nor were his concerns the center of it. This man who had upended Ryou’s life utterly was now graciously accepting an extra helping of beef tongue that Ryou pushed off its skewer onto his plate and being questioned by an ever-talkative Malik.

“You’re our man on the inside now, Bacchan,” he was saying.  “You’ve gotta tell us if Ryou has an office affair going on.”  Bakura snorted.

“I told you that you’re not allowed to call me that,” he intoned, ignoring Malik’s gossip.

“How come Ryou can?” the blonde Egyptian pouted, pointing his chopsticks at his friend as he said his name.

“He fucked up my life, Malik.  I can do whatever I want,” Ryou responded matter-of-factly, poking at some quail’s eggs.  Malik seemed to consider that for a moment and then nodded sagely.

“Okay, fine, he gets special privileges.  But you still need to be our eyes, Bakura.  Ryou’s definitely keeping secrets!” Ryou rolled his eyes, but Anzu saw Bakura smirk almost imperceptibly.

“He does always seem pretty eager to please Kaiba,” he said, conspiratorially.  Ryou elbowed him sharply in the arm. Malik started to crack up.

“Can’t get enough of distant, damaged men in your life, Ryou-chan?” he giggled, and suddenly Anzu felt a great wave of anguish sweep over her.

“Wait...what,  _ Ryou _ ,” she began.  “Are you...are you gay?”  This only made Malik crack up further.

“Oh no, Anzu!  You didn’t know?” he howled.  Ryou looked sheepish and guilty.

“Sorry, Anzu, I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just…” he trailed off.  Anzu had set him up with several of her girlfriends, and suddenly she realized why they all reported that it had been such a  _ lovely _ date, Ryou was such a  _ gentleman _ , but he had never called any of them for a second go-round.

“You idiot,” she said solemnly. “You didn’t have to keep me in the dark just to appease me.”

“I know,” Ryou said, holding up his hands defensively.  “I’m sorry. I always meant to tell you, but I knew you were concerned about me, and I didn’t want you to worry anymore.”

“This is all a very convenient way to derail the conversation,” Malik shot, and Ryou rolled his eyes again.

“You’ve said yourself that Kaiba’s good-looking,” he grumbled.

“Yes, but he’s hardly marriage material.  Besides, I have Bacchan,” Malik sang, reaching out to grasp Bakura’s hand across the table.  Bakura snatched it back and growled.

“You, too?” Anzu asked Malik, who shifted his weight to lean toward her and grace her with a huge wink.

“Nah, I’m bi, so you’ve still got a chance, An-chan.”  It was Anzu’s turn to roll her eyes and push him away.

“You’re drunk,” she said, and then shifted her gaze to Bakura, whom she had been avoiding talking to, prefering to observe and listen.  “And what about you? Any surprises?” Bakura seemed to consider this.

“I, uh...haven’t put much thought into it, honestly,” he finally said, and Anzu thought she noticed Ryou looking up at him hopefully.  She took that to be a sign that maybe she had also had a little too much to drink, and then simply replied, “Well, just let me know before I decide to start meddling in your love life.”

On the walk back to Ryou’s apartment, Anzu hung back to watch Ryou and Bakura chatting quietly, Ryou occasionally weaving a bit and bumping his arm against his former parasite’s.  Malik slowed down to let her catch up to him.

“They’re hopeless,” he said, matching her pace.

“How do you mean?” she asked, though a little worm of suspicion had started to wiggle around in her mind.

“Ryou wouldn’t like me telling you this, but he missed that asshole so fucking much.  You should have seen some of the ways he attempted to bring him back.” At this, Malik shook his head.  “And Bakura...all he wants is family, and some sense of absolution. Ryou could probably give him that, if Bakura would let him.”

“And where do you fit in all this?” Anzu asked, threading her arm through Malik’s, who sighed.

“I think I’m in love with them both, but not as much as either of them is in love with each other.”  Anzu leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“It’s so weird, how obsessed we all are with each other.  I’m not in love with Atem anymore. I’m not sure if I ever really was.”  Malik leaned his head back and looked up at the stars.

“We all went through so much together,” he said.  “How could we ever get someone else to understand that?”

“Walk me home?” she asked him, and he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally updated! I had a snow day today, and I just felt inspired to fix up and finish what I had started for this chapter. "I Get Low" is a song by Timber Timbre, and as usual I claim no rights to their work. I expect to use more of their music going forward because it gives me serious Bakufeels.
> 
> The bellybutton piercing thing: I had been doing a little research on ancient Egyptian piercing practices...I knew they pierced their ears, but I wasn't sure what else was within the realm of possibility. I discovered that navel piercings were something reserved for the upper class, or in some cases *just* the Pharaoh, and anyone other than the Pharaoh who sported a navel piercing would face severe punishment. I became *obsessed* with the idea that Bakura would pierce his bellybutton just to spite Atem. Petty asshole.
> 
> Anzu! As a girl, I spent way too much time hating on the female characters in male-dominated anime series. I've decided that Anzu has so much wasted potential, and that she's really kind of great. I wanted her to have an important role in this story, and to showcase her caring qualities as well as her internal life. I, uh...didn't intend for that last bit with Malik to seem quite so romantic? I don't really have intentions of shipping them, but sometimes writing gets away from me, so we'll see what happens! I thought I had a romantic trajectory for her already, haha. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this chapter! It's a little more than 1000 words more than the last chapter, so hopefully there's some good stuff in there to hold you over until I get a chance to get another chapter done. Life is hectic at the moment (life is always hectic, let's be real), but I promise I haven't forgotten about this!


	7. The Fallen

Chapter Seven

The Fallen

_ So they say you’re trouble, boy _

_ Just because you like the destroy _

_ All the things that bring the idiots joy _

_ Well, what’s wrong with a little destruction? _

 

Bakura liked being busy.  Work kept his mind occupied, even when it brought up memories.  After the initial shock of working with artifacts from his hometown had worn off, he was able to distance himself from what he was doing; after all, nothing looked like it had 3000 years ago.  Everything was broken and dusty, remnants of a long-forgotten tragedy. Forgotten by history, anyway.

Work was a refuge.  The high ceilings and marble floors gave the artifacts dignity, but it also made them feel clinical.  Everything was exposed, under glass for everyone to see. There were no secrets here, no hidden pain. Even the mummies Bakura had seen had been completely divorced from their legacies, summed up with a name and some facts on a placard.  It might disgust Bakura, if it didn’t allow him to feel safe in ignorance and anonymity.

As he was artfully arranging a broken shard of pottery in a display case, Bakura found his solace similarly shattered.  The exhibit room was roped off, with a sign designating that it was off-limits to patrons of the museum for a good few weeks yet.  So when Atem came barreling in, screaming something about a vile pustule on the rump of polite society, he was followed by a positively bewildered Yugi, the dumbfounded duo of Jou and Honda, an extremely apologetic-looking Anzu, and one put-upon security guard.

“Hey, you can’t be in here!” the guard was shouting, but Atem completely ignored him, violet eyes full of rage, tanned cheeks flushing crimson.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” the Pharaoh demanded, and Bakura let a labored breath hiss out from between his teeth.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied evenly through a clenched jaw, praying that his pounding heart couldn’t be heard by the whole room.  “I work here,” he added. Atem didn’t like that; his eyes narrowed.

“That’s absurd,” he spat.

“Believe me, no one thinks it’s more absurd than I do,” Bakura snarled.  Gods, he hated this man. He had done everything in his power to ignore the tragedy that had befallen Kul Elna, he had cheated his way into defeating Bakura time and time again, and how he had the audacity to come flying into a restricted area and rub salt in the wounds that Bakura was trying desperately to forget about.  “Anyway, this area is off-limits, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I see that you’ve been soundly defeated,” Atem shouted.  Bakura squeezed the antique pottery shard in his hand in an attempt to distract himself from his ever-rising desire to punch the Pharaoh in his stupid face.  Yugi was pulling back on Atem’s arm, quietly begging him to lower his voice, concerned at the scene they were causing. Bakura glanced at Anzu, who was urgently muttering into her mobile phone at the back of the group.  She flashed him a concerned glance.

“I’m curious as to what that defeat would look like,” Bakura replied, flicking his gaze back to the erstwhile ruler, “considering I don’t have any shadow magic right now, and I’m assuming the same goes for you.  Are you planning on just...killing me?” He raised his eyebrow, daring Atem to turn into a murderer. It wasn’t an easy thing to live with, having killed someone. He wondered vaguely if the Pharaoh could grapple with the guilt.  In all likelihood he’d ignore it, and let his little fan club assure him that he had done the right thing, despite any evidence to the contrary.

Atem growled and yanked his arm out of Yugi’s grip, stepping forward as though he was squaring up to start a fist fight.  A fist fight, here in a museum! Bakura stood his ground, very consciously squashing the urge to also take a step forward -- and also trying desperately not to shake with rage.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, Pharaoh,” a firm voice called out.  Everyone turned to see Ryou striding up the room, his boots clicking smartly on the marble.  “I realize you don’t believe rules apply to you, but our security staff doesn’t see it that way.”  Ryou stopped between the two feuding men, stepping just in front of Bakura and staring Atem in the eye.

“Ryou,” Atem growled, “don’t tell me you’re protecting this monster?  Didn’t he cause you nothing but suffering?” 

“I’d thank you to not tell me how to treat the people in my life who have wronged me, Pharaoh.  I’m not a child, and my relationship with Bakura is not something I expect you to understand. And I certainly don’t need you to condone it.”  Bakura wished he could see the expression on Ryou’s face, because Atem looked like he had just been slapped.

“I see,” the erstwhile Pharaoh replied flatly after a tense thirty seconds.  “Ryou, he’s brainwashed you, but we can help! We can save you!” Ryou barked out a hollow laugh.

“Pharaoh Atem, always swooping in to save someone without considering whether they actually need to be saved,” he cooed.  At this, Bakura did step out to the side a little to watch Ryou’s dropping lids tighten into a menacing squint.

“Get out of here, before I have you thrown out,” he then spat.  “I’m not in the mood to deal with your ego, this conflict, or missing my deadlines.” 

“You’re making a mistake,” Atem hissed.  “That... _ creature _ shouldn’t be here.  He should be dead!”

“And so should you,” Ryou replied evenly, turning on his heel.  “Come on,” he directed to Bakura. “It’s time for you to take a break.”  Bakura allowed his former host to grab his hand and lead him, heels click-clacking, out the back entrance of the great hall.

 

~*~

 

Atem was shocked.  Or maybe he was furious?  No friend had ever questioned him or his motives before.  He wondered, vaguely, if Ryou was really even a friend? The two of them had barely ever interacted; Atem had only ever challenged the other man’s shadow-self, the self-proclaimed Thief King.  How many words had he ever actually spoken to the real Ryou?

They had come to the museum today to visit him, at Yugi’s insistence.  Apparently, Ryou’s birthday was coming up soon and there was some chatter about throwing him a small party.  Anzu had been cagey the whole time, suggesting that maybe they give him a call instead. When questioned further, she mentioned this new exhibit he was working on, but Atem was starting to suspect that she had different motives. 

He was pulled out of his daze, quiet literally, by Yugi yanking on his arm once again.

“Come on, Atem, let’s get out of here.”  Yugi was nervously eying the security guard who was muttering something into a walkie-talkie.

“I  _ told _ you that we should have waited to come to the museum!  That Ryou was busy!” Anzu exclaimed as the group dragged Atem toward the exit.

“Yeah, busy hiding criminals,” Honda muttered, and Anzu wheeled on him.

“Ryou is a grown man who can take care of his own business -- unlike  _ some _ people I know!”

“He’s right, though, Anzu,” Atem replied.  “Why should he protect that scoundrel? And how come you knew this would happen?”  Anzu huffed, but Atem was impressed that she didn’t seem even the least bit remorseful.

“I had dinner with them the other night,” she responded.  Then she hastily added, “I was definitely put off, too! But there was something Bakura said that made me want to give him a chance….”  She trailed off, and it seemed to Atem that he’d never find out what Bakura had said to pique Anzu’s interest.

“You’re usually a pretty good judge of character,” Jou said to Anzu.  “Maybe we should give this guy a shot?”

“She can’t be that good a judge if she still hangs out with you!” Honda shot back, and the two wrestled their way down the front steps of the museum.  Anzu groaned.

“I’ll tell you this much!” she shouted after them.  “Bakura is at least much more gentlemanly than either of you ruffians!”

Atem watched as she shuffled down the steps after them, the buzz of adrenaline from his confrontation slowly wearing off, leaving him drained.  Yugi brushed against Atem’s arm gently.

“You know me,” he said lightly.  “I always want to give people a second chance.  After all, you didn’t leave the best impression the first time you came around, either.”  Atem looked down into Yugi’s big, hopeful eyes and found -- not for the first time -- his resolve buckle under their graciousness.

“He tried to kill us all,” he finally said, but without much conviction.

“You set several people on fire.  People who thought you were me,” Yugi responded, with a smile that belied his latent frustrations.

Atem grunted.  He wouldn’t make a fuss if he had to see Bakura again, but he wasn’t going to drop his guard, either.

 

~*~

 

“That certainly was close,” Ryou said as they navigated the dark back halls of the Domino Museum.  He had had to leave, had to get Bakura out of there as quickly as possible before either of them exploded on Atem.  He had taken Bakura’s hand impulsively in the rush, and though he was slightly embarrassed at having done so, he found the sensation not at all unpleasant.

Ryou led them both to his office, Bakura’s hand, large and warm, enveloping his own.  Once within the room, Ryou closed the door and slowly, reluctantly, loosened his grip on Bakura’s fingers.

“Thank you,” Bakura said, quietly.  “I’m not sure how much more of that I could have taken without becoming violent.”

“Same, honestly,” Ryou sighed, flopping down in his desk chair and motioning to Bakura to take the seat opposite the desk.  “He’s bound to be confused now; I don’t think I’ve ever expressed any of my distaste of him to anyone other than you and Malik.”

“Oh, if he had tried to tangle with you anymore, I probably wouldn’t have been able to hold back.  Though you seemed to stand your ground pretty well.” Bakura was treating Ryou to one of those impish smirks, and Ryou felt something long-stagnant flutter in the region of his stomach.  He looked away.

“It was peaceful without him,” he confessed.  “Yugi whined about missing him a bit, which I understand, but then it was like he and his holier-than-thou attitude just kind of...disintegrated.  I figured, if I had to be alone, at least that smug fucker wasn’t going to be around to brag about causing my loneliness….” He spun his chair a bit so Bakura couldn’t see his face heating up.  “I...never particularly liked him.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then Ryou abruptly spun back around and stood, grabbing his bag up off the floor beside his chair.

“Hey, let’s go sit outside for a bit,” he said, and led the way back out the door -- without grabbing Bakura’s hand this time.

 

Once outside, Ryou and Bakura settled themselves down on the secluded bench where they had had their reunion.  Ryou rummaged around in his bag for his emergency cigarettes, his hand gently knocking against the small figure that he kept in the same pocket.  He prayed Bakura couldn’t see it.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Bakura mumbled as Ryou lit up.  “I hear it’s not good for you.”

“...I’m being lectured by the man who tried to kill everyone on earth, including himself,” Ryou retorted simply around the cigarette.  “Besides, this isn’t a everyday thing. Just when I’m stressed. Which seems to happen a lot around you.”

“Fair enough,” Bakura replied, watching Ryou take his first drag.  “Might make you share, though.” And with that, he leaned in toward Ryou, his mouth closing around the butt that Ryou was still holding only inches from his own mouth.  Ryou was able to see Bakura’s horrible scar from up close, and his eyes traced it from the other man’s eyebrow all the way to right above his chin.

“Like what you see?” Bakura was smirking, cigarette obtained.  Ryou’s heart was pounding.

“How did it happen?” he asked stupidly, and then even more stupidly traced a cold finger down the other man’s face.  He saw something flash in Bakura’s eyes -- excitement, perhaps? Or anger?

“Used to get into a lot of fights.  You should have seen the other guy.”  And with that he leaned back, took his drag, and then handed the cigarette back to Ryou.

“That sounds like a convenient way to avoid the question,” he responded, noting as he brought the cigarette back up to his own lips that Jou and Honda would make a big deal about an “indirect kiss.”  He wondered vaguely if two people who had once shared a body could even really be bothered by such things. He also tried to ascertain if it tasted any different than it had before their exchange. He was a little disappointed to discover that it didn’t.

“It’s true, though.  I got into a fight.” Bakura shrugged.  “It happened a lot, and once I was fully grown, I always won.”

“And before that?” Ryou asked, sensing the answer, remembering with the memory that didn’t belong to him but which lived in his subconscious.

“Well,” Bakura started solemnly.  “You’ve seen my back.”

Ryou nodded.  That was it, then, the feelings-door was closed now.  He continued to smoke in silence for a few moments.

“That’s probably not the last we’re going to hear from Atem,” he finally said.  Bakura groaned.

“How am I supposed to...I don’t know, live out my best life if I’m going to constantly be tempted to kill the Pharaoh?”  He had turned sideways on the bench and buried his face in the arm that was slung over its back. “I knew Ammit should have just devoured me.”

Ryou rolled his eyes at his companion’s dramatics.

“It’ll be fine,” he said.  “We don’t have to see him on a regular basis.  We can just...avoid them all.” Bakura looked up, his face etched in skepticism.

“You want me to believe that you’ll just not see your friends for my sake?”  Ryou waved his cigarette hand around.

“You seem to think I socialize with any of them ever.”

“Anzu was going to take you to dinner the other night, if I recall correctly?”

“Yeah, and aside from Anzu the busybody, Malik is the only person I see normally outside of work.  I’m hardly gregarious.” Ryou watched Bakura’s face turn from skepticism to tranquility.

“So I guess it’s just you, me, and Malik this weekend?”  Bakura was grinning, and Ryou felt his chest warm.

“Oh no, we’ll be joined by our friends Beer and Truly Awful B-Movies,” he responded, stubbing out his cigarette with a grin.  Bakura rolled his eyes, but his hearty chuckle gave him away. Despite himself, and despite the chaos that had just occurred, Ryou was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Fallen" is an excellent song by Franz Ferdinand. I claim no ownership of said song or lyrics.
> 
> Okay, I owe everyone an apology for taking so damn long with this chapter, and also it's a tad shorter than usual. I can blame life being hectic, which is true, but I also...just had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I'm still not completely happy with it; I feel as though actions happen too quickly, and I had originally planned to have a bit with Kaiba and Ishizu, as well. But at some point you've gotta rip the bandaid off, I guess, so here it is. The more I work on this story, the more I feel as though it's a decent working draft, as opposed to what I want it to be at completion.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all, as always, for being super patient and for continuing to read, bookmark, and leave me kind words of encouragement! It had to have been at least a decade since I had last written fic, and my reintroduction to it has been nothing but pleasant and supportive. I'm very grateful to all of you! 
> 
> I...will make no promises about the next chapter, as we're nearing another convention at work. Just know that I think about this fic, and all you lovely readers, often! I have no intention of stopping this story on purpose, so for now I just ask that you bear with me as I figure out my writing process. :3


	8. The Devil Never Sleeps

Chapter Eight

The Devil Never Sleeps

_Dreamin' again that it's freezin' and my mother's in a flower bed_

_Long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds_

_Changin' her face like a shadow on the ground_

_No one lives forever and the devil never sleeps alone_

_Everybody bitchin' there's nothing on the radio_

 

The cakes in the bakery window had called out to him, but Ryou was resilient in his journey to the supermarket.  Instead of picking out some cream-filled delectable, he was staring forlornly at a refrigerated display of greens and reminding himself that he could buy a cake for his birthday next weekend.  For now, he had to be a little frugal; he didn’t mind feeding Bakura, but it did mean that his yen didn’t stretch quite as far as they had when he was living alone.

His phone began to buzz, ominously singing out the theme song to _The Twilight Zone_ as it alerted him to a call.  He fished the device out of his jeans pocket, wondering if maybe it was Bakura asking him to pick up something specific.  This was a hope against hope, as his roommate remained fairly aloof and seemed to barely register that he possessed a phone of his own with which to make calls.

Ryou flipped open the phone and sighed.  It was Yugi.

The two hadn’t spoken since the incident at the museum earlier in the week.  Actually, they hadn’t spoken then, either, since Ryou had directed his ire at Yugi’s former possessor.  Ryou didn’t regret the actions he took that day, but he wasn’t looking forward to having to justify himself to everyone.  It used to be so easy to avoid unwanted attention before Bakura came around, he mused to himself as he answered the call.

“Hi, Yugi.”

“Ryou!  I’m really sorry about the other day,” Yugi sounded cheerful, so Ryou relaxed a little, absently looking over a package of tomatoes.  “Atem was caught off-guard, and he acted really rashly.”

“It’s...fine,” Ryou hesitated.  It had been really inappropriate, actually, and had caused a lot of undue worry.  If Anzu hadn’t called and alerted him as it was happening, it could have been a much bigger scene.  But now wasn’t the time to get into that, and Ryou wondered, not for the first time, if Yugi was really good at manipulating the feelings of others.

“We had come by to ask if we could do a thing for your birthday,” Yugi continued amiably.  “We’ve been pretty bad at keeping up with what’s going on in your life, and I feel badly about that.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to go to any trouble,” Ryou replied.  His birthday plan had been to gorge himself on pastries that he wouldn’t feel obligated to share, and he was prematurely feeling resentful of having his dreams interrupted for the sake of socializing.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!  There’s that bar around the corner from the game shop, I thought we could get together there.  They have enough room to seat all of us!”

 _All of us_ , Ryou thought bitterly.   _Including the Pharaoh, I assume_.  But he held his tongue as he turned to go down the next grocery aisle.  As he turned the corner, however, he froze.

“Yugi, that...that sounds great.  I’ve...gotta go now, I’ll call you later.”  He flipped his phone shut despite Yugi’s protests, never taking his eyes off the man...no, the _creature_ before him.

It was like looking in a funhouse mirror, Ryou reflected.  This was Bakura, but it was Bakura from before, all sinister red eyes and not-quite fangs, the black leather trench coat that Ryou was _certain_ was hanging in his own closet back home.  

“Zorc,” Ryou finally said, his voice expressionless but his heart racing.

“Clever little Landlord,” the being hissed from the other end of the aisle.  

“Don’t call me that,” Ryou snapped.  “You shouldn’t be here. And you certainly shouldn’t be mimicking my appearance.”  Zorc chuckled, low and menacing.

“Your appearance, eh?  But we shared it for so long... _Ryou_.”  Ryou shuddered; hearing his given name coming from that monster’s mouth was worse, but he had come to think of Landlord as a term of endearment, and he’d be blown if he was going to let Zorc assume he had the same privileges as Bakura.

“How did you get here?” he asked, teeth clenched.  Zorc began to swagger down the aisle.

“Your precious thief is back in this world, and he’s just as vulnerable now as he was when he was a small child,” the creature cooed.  “It would be a shame if he fell back into... _bad habits_.”  The last phrase was uttered mere inches from Ryou’s ear; he felt Zorc’s foul breath stir his hair.

“Stay away from him,” Ryou commanded, suddenly fearful for having left Bakura home alone.

“Don’t worry, little one.  I’m not strong enough right now to do very much.  But I will feed on hatred -- either his, or the Pharaoh’s.”

“Why are you telling me this?”  Zorc laughed again, changing form to some other random human, indistinguishable from any other shopper, only his eyes remaining recognizable.

“Because it’s fun to watch you struggle,” he whispered again, and then he disappeared behind a display of bread.

Ryou’s knees buckled, and he staggered.  He needed to get home. Now.

 

~*~

 

Kul Elna was burning.  This wasn’t new for Bakura; he had relieved this dream so often.  And while the sadness and the fear never left, the images were so familiar as to be mundane.  Until he saw Ryou, sticking out among the crying villagers with his white skin and modern clothing.

The pale man ran toward him, arms outstretched.  He scooped Bakura up in his arms (for Bakura was always a child in these dreams), and he began to run.  Bakura could feel Ryou’s heaving breath as his boots slid and sank in the drifting sand dunes, trying against all odds to protect this child in his arms.  He was warm and smelled good, and Bakura pushed his chubby fingers into Ryou’s hair. His family was gone, but here at least was someone who might care. He allowed himself to fall asleep, supported by lean arms.

They were far away from the burning village now, and Bakura was awake again and suddenly fully grown, as could only occur in a dream.  He reached out to Ryou, standing before him, looking for all the world like an angel, smiling and serene. This young man, about his age now, was important.  He had salvaged a child from the wreckage of his home, had risked everything for someone who had been a stranger. Or had they ever really been strangers?

As soon as his fingers reached Ryou’s cheek, however, there was a sickle clutched in them, and blood -- so much blood!  It was running from a wound across Ryou’s neck, a wound that Bakura was sure he had somehow inflicted. It was flashing over the blade in Bakura’s scarred hand.  It was staining the sand at their feet. Ryou was smiling at him sweetly as the light in his eyes slowly dimmed.

“It’s okay,” the wind whispered in Ryou’s voice.  “I did all this knowing what you are.” Ryou’s eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, and Bakura screamed himself awake.

 

Ryou -- the real Ryou -- was leaning over Bakura’s futon, his eyebrows knotted in fear and concern.  Bakura could feel sweat cooling on his lower back, and tears drying on his face. His heart was still pounding.  He began to reach toward Ryou’s face and then hesitated, the events of the dream still fresh behind his eyes. Ryou closed the gap and grabbed Bakura’s hand, pulling it toward his chest.

“What happened?” he whispered.  Bakura couldn’t answer. He had done countless terrible deeds, had certainly killed men before this.  But he didn’t want to confess to this crime, couldn’t bear to consider that he might ever actually rip a hole in that smooth white throat, literally or otherwise.  He made a strangled noise and tried to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy.”  Ryou reached out to steady him, and Bakura felt the adrenaline draining out of him as he sank forward, his face on Ryou’s shoulder.  His terrible hands found purchase in the back of Ryou’s shirt and he clung tightly, willing himself not to cry.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he finally whispered against Ryou’s neck as the other man rubbed his back in gentle, circular movements.  “I’m putting you at risk.” He felt Ryou stiffen and then snort.

“It’s hard to think if you being particularly dangerous when I hear you crying in your sleep, Bacchan,” he responded.  His words were mocking, but his voice was gentle. Bakura allowed his nose to press against Ryou’s collarbone. He really did smell good.

 

~*~

 

Ryou had had every intention of telling Bakura immediately that he was in dire trouble.  He had nearly forgotten to pay for his groceries, he had been so preoccupied with getting home and ensuring that Zorc had not been lurking anywhere near his new roommate.

But as Ryou had hurriedly kicked off his boots in the entryway of his apartment, he had heard the whimpering coming from Bakura’s bedroom.  He dropped all the grocery bags right then and there and flew across the apartment, panic rising in him. Watching the other man toss and struggle in his sleep, he threw himself down onto the futon, all thoughts of propriety be damned.

Bakura hadn’t told him what the dream had been, and Ryou had chosen not to pry.  He allowed himself to take comfort in a warm embrace -- the first he had had in a long time -- and in the assurance that Bakura might indeed be vulnerable to hate, but that more than anything else he felt scared.  Ryou decided that he would keep Zorc to himself for now, lest he worry Bakura at a time when the man was working on the business of his soul’s reformation. Soon, he would talk with Malik about it, and they would form a plan.  He liked hatching plots with Malik; it felt like the good old bad days.

But now Ryou was sitting in a bar, at the center of a table filled with his friends, and Bakura was late.  Ryou hadn’t been sure whether having Bakura there would be a good idea, but Yugi had been insistent. How were Atem and Bakura meant to be civil to each other if they never had a chance to socialize?  That had been Yugi’s reasoning, anyway, and though Ryou had his doubts, he also felt that he’d rather not leave Bakura alone too much.

But the chair to Ryou’s left was empty, and had been for the better part of an hour.  Ryou, who had wanted nothing more than to eat an entire cake by himself, was stuck listening to Jou and Honda recount their prowess with the ladies while he worried a fingernail, his other hand absently pushing pickled ginger across his plate.  Malik, sitting to his right, leaned over to him.

“They really can talk, eh?” he murmured.  Ryou snorted.

“At least it’s not awkwardly silent.”  Malik nodded.

“Yeah, His Royal Pain has been pretty quiet,” he responded, and the both looked down the table where Atem was sitting ramrod straight, arms folded across his chest, and an untouched pint of beer warming in front of him.  Ryou sighed.

“Sorry your birthday is ruined,” Malik said sympathetically, and then suddenly everyone went quiet.  Ryou and Malik turned to see Bakura sidling up to the table, a pastry box dangling by a string from his fingers.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.  “This bakery’s a bit out of the way.”  He plopped the box into Ryou’s open hands and slid into the chair beside him, his arm resting lazily on the back of Ryou’s chair.  Ryou felt a blush rise in his cheeks. The box was from his favorite bakery, one that took half an hour to get to by train, and which he was fairly certain none of his friends had ever been to.  Everyone around the table was tense and quiet, until Anzu popped up out of her seat.

“Here, let’s flag down someone to get you a drink, Bakura!”  Bakura smiled at her.

“Sure, thanks.”  Ryou could tell that Bakura was avoiding looking at the other end of the table, but was also pleased that he seemed to be on his best behavior.  It was helpful, he reflected, that Anzu was on their side in this, and that she had had some time to get to know Bakura, if however brief. She could bridge the communication gap in ways that Ryou and Malik would never be able to, being somewhat outsiders in this group.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Bakura, who turned his smile on Ryou.  “Is it….” Bakura nodded.

“Profiteroles.  I haven’t seen you eat anything sugary since I...returned.  I thought you might be suffering.” He winked, and Ryou clutched the box to his chest.

“Here, you gonna share those, Ryou?” Jou teased, and Honda elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“That was a birthday gift,” he said sternly.  “He’s not obligated to share anything with you!”

“There’s no way one guy could eat that many pastries!” Jou jabbed Honda back.

“You’d be amazed,” Bakura chuckled, before turning and placing his order with a very nervous-looking waitress.

The drinking and chatting continued without much incident for quite some time, and Ryou felt far more relaxed than he thought he would at such an occasion.  Atem continued to pout in the corner, and Ryou reflected that Yugi must have told him not to say anything if he didn’t have anything nice to say. _Serves him right.  If he chooses to make this about him, he can go fuck himself.  It’s my birthday, damn it._  And so, Ryou ignored him and decided to have a good time.

Bakura’s arm stayed slung casually over the back of Ryou’s chair throughout most of the evening, and Ryou liked the familiarity.  He picked food off of Bakura’s plate, and Bakura returned in kind. He wasn’t sure when their relationship had reached this point, but it felt natural enough; after all, he had technically known Bakura longer than anyone else at this table.  No one questioned it, though he did meet Anzu’s saucy expression at one point across the table. Her raised eyebrow and nearly imperceptible smirk emboldened him to lean back against Bakura’s arm while trading her a smirk of his own. She gave him a small thumbs up, and he had sense enough to blush, praying Honda and Malik kept everyone’s attention on their motorcycle maintenance conversation.

Bakura, who had seemed very invested in learning more about motorcycles, suddenly leaned down to whisper in Ryou’s ear.

“Getting tired, Landlord?” he asked, and Ryou turned to face him, their noses an inch apart.

“Mm, just a little drinky,” he murmured, his eyelids sliding halfway shut as he felt his limbs go weak.  This was nice, breathing in Bakura’s musky scent mixed with beer and salty foods. He reached up to slide his finger against Bakura’s scar again.

“Why are you always doing that?” Bakura asked, but he was smiling.  Ryou shrugged.

“...’s sexy,” he replied, and somewhere in the back of his brain he was profoundly aware that he was being an idiot, but he couldn’t stop his base thoughts from dripping out of his damn fool mouth.  Bakura looked away, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Didn’t realize I was your type,” he responded.  “Thought you’d be more into someone like Malik.”

“Oh, we tried that,” Malik interrupted suddenly, and Ryou was grateful to shift the focus.  Suddenly the conversation was shifted to him, and he didn’t want everyone watching him moon over Bakura.

“That so?” Bakura asked, straightening up.  “I’d think you guys would be great together.  What happened?”

“Wait, oh my God Ryou, not only did it take you this long to tell me you were gay, but you conveniently forgot to mention that you and Malik were going out?” Anzu slammed her fist on the table, sloshing liquid out of her glass.

“Well, I mean, we weren’t really dating, as such….” Ryou began, then turned doleful eyes on Malik.

“Yeah, it was more like we were spending a lot of time together and kind of talked about it….”  Even Malik was looking uncomfortable now. Neither one of them knew how to say that they had both been filling the void that Bakura had left behind.

“Ultimately, we just didn’t really have romantic feelings for each other!” Ryou finished abruptly, sitting up and suddenly feeling far too sober.  He could feel Malik wince at the lie; it had been Ryou who couldn’t drum up the romantic feelings, and he had felt badly about it. But they had been getting along so well despite that, he really didn’t want anything to jeopardize their friendship now, not when he desperately needed the support of a real friend who believed him when he said he trusted Bakura.

Jou was holding up his hands, trying to process the conversation.

“You mean to tell me...you’re both gay?”

“I’m bi,” Malik offered.  “But yeah.” Jou sighed.

“So much for the birthday gift Honda and I got you, Ryou,” he responded, and tossed a softcore girly magazine on the table, still in its shrinkwrap.  Bakura burst out laughing. Yugi turned positively crimson.

“Oh my God, you guys!  You can’t just buy someone porn!” he squeaked.

“You seemed to like the one we gave you for your birthday,” Honda teased, and Yugi looked like he was about to explode.

“I...that...you can’t….”  Yugi’s stammering defense was cut short when Atem abruptly rose, pushing his chair back so hard it rocked as though it might fall over.  Everyone turned to stare.

“I can’t do this,” he finally said.  “You’re all acting like this is totally normal, to have this...this _villain_ in your midst!”  He jabbed a finger in Bakura’s direction.  Ryou felt Bakura tense behind him.

“Do you really have to do this right now?” Bakura asked.  

“If not now, when?  When you’ve already turned everyone against me?  When you’ve fooled them all into thinking you’re harmless?  I was told that I was being sent back for a reason! That I was needed in this time!  I can’t think of any reason other than to make sure you don’t attempt to destroy everything again!”  Atem’s voice was rising, and other diners were turning to investigate the scene. Yugi grabbed his arm.

“You promised to behave,” he whispered.

“How can I behave when you’re chatting about dating with the man who almost killed us all?” Atem hissed back, loud enough for only the table to hear.  There was a tense silence, and then Bakura sighed.

“I can’t do this.  I’m going home.” He stood and turned to gather his things.

“Can’t do what?” Atem demanded.  “Are you running because I’m right?”  Bakura paused with his back to the table and then suddenly wheeled around, teeth bared.

“Listen, Pharaoh,” he spat.  “The only person here I want to kill is you.  Zorc spent a long time building up my hatred in order to annihilate the whole world, but at the core of that was a mistrust of authority and an intense, boundless desire to gut you like a fish.  You’re completely right, I’m hardly innocent. Is that what you want to hear?” Bakura didn’t wait for Atem to respond before he stormed out of the restaurant, having thrown a wad of bills on the table to cover his tab.

Ryou was shaking.  Everything had been _fine_ , why did Atem have to butt in?  He felt petulant tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at the floor.  He also suddenly wanted to go home, but didn’t feel like he had the strength to move.  Suddenly Malik’s arm was around his shoulder.

“Here,” Malik said tossing more bills onto the pile that Bakura had left.  “Take this and what Bakura put down to cover the three of us. I’m gonna take Ryou home.”  Anzu nodded silently, and Malik pulled Ryou and his belongings up to leave.

Ryou looked back to see Atem watching them go, looking slightly ruffled.  He gave the Pharaoh the finger before Malik could pull him completely out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Devil Never Sleeps" is a song by Iron & Wine; I claim no ownership of it.
> 
> Hey, look at that! An update in a little over a week! I was feeling inspired and decided to get down as much as possible while the ideas and the kind feedback were fresh in my mind. I'm overall pretty pleased with how this chapter turned out, though I do feel that Bakura's dream sequence is a little more rushed than I'd like it to be. And apologies for the graphic images! I did rate this M, though, so I hope I didn't catch too many people off-guard.
> 
> Look at me, just kinda...gently sliding some angstshipping in there to ruin all your lives, haha. The idea of Malik and Ryou attempting a romance wasn't initially in my plans for this story at all, but I wanted to emphasize how important they are to each other. I don't believe that romance is the most important kind of relationship, but I think both of them might have been a little confused as to how to just love each other without romance at first. They were both very young and very hurt at the end of all the events of DM, so it seemed likely. And Malik...Malik is still figuring out all his feelings, the poor lad.
> 
> Atem needs to take the scepter out of his ass! I...hate him a little bit, but half of what he's saying does make a certain amount of sense. Why the hell is everyone taking a chance on someone who tried to destroy the world? It does seem a little far-fetched. I'm going to go ahead and say Anzu made a case for him to Yugi, Jou, and Honda.
> 
> Oooo, and Zorc is back! What kind of wild shenanigans is that jerk going to get up to, I wonder..? ;3
> 
> Writing group scenes is...very hard for me. The practice has been good, though! I hope that I'm improving with each chapter. As always, thank you all for your patience, feedback, and support! It means a lot. :3


	9. The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter Nine

The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

_ Weren't we like a pair of thieves, _

_ With tumbled locks and broken codes? _

_ You cannot take that from me: _

_ My small reprieves --  _

_ Your heart of gold... _

 

Rock hits of a bygone era wafted gently through the greasy air of the garage where Malik kept his bike.  He was quietly humming along, his oily hands deftly manipulating the topography of the bike’s engine. Bakura was sitting not five feet away on an overturned bucket, sighing at regular intervals with his chin in his hands.

Finally, Malik could bear the melancholy cloud over his friend’s head no longer.  He sat back on his haunches and said, “You gonna tell me what’s eating at you, or are you just here to marinate in your own misery where Ryou can’t see you doing it?”  Bakura scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he finally responded.  “I just keep thinking about that argument with the Pharaoh.  The Landlord has been...pretty moody since then.” Malik rose slowly.

“Yeah, that was...uncomfortable,” he said, his voice measured.

“And it could have been prevented if I hadn’t been there,” Bakura grumbled.  “I keep feeling as though I need to leave, because I’m just making everything harder.”

“Leave?” Malik asked, stepping closer.  Bakura nodded. “Stand up,” Malik demanded.  Bakura glanced up at him questioningly, but he obeyed.

And then Malik slapped him hard across the face, leaving a black streak of oil behind to mirror the scar on the ex-thief’s other cheek.  The sound seemed to stop time for a beat, the crackling radio briefly muted in the shockwave.

“What the hell was that for?” Bakura growled, fingertips reaching up to caress the angry red mark that was flaring to life against his dark skin.  Malik calmly turned away, reaching for an already grubby towel to wipe the worst of the grease off his hands. He exhaled sharply before turning back to Bakura, taking in the man’s face -- the wild, angry eyes, thick eyebrows knitted together, lips curled in a defensive snarl.  Like a trapped animal, confused and self-endangering, but impossible not to feel for.

“You have no idea what it was like while you were gone,” Malik said simply, resting his hands on his slender hips.  “We were both -- Ryou and me, that is -- complete wrecks. I had had some time before your...death...to deal with my own anger issues and quell my evil urges.  I could take all the parts of me that had been missing you and focus them on Ryou instead, on helping him come to terms with his new freedom. But his parasite was different from mine, and he couldn’t let you go.”  Bakura dropped the hand that had been rubbing his face, his gaze dropping with it.

“Is that why you two...broke up?” he asked cautiously.

“In order to break up, you have to have been dating to begin with.  Our...partnership was less formal than that. It was my idea. I thought, I loved him already, so maybe if I could get him to invest in me, he could move on, have something good and healthy in his life….”  Bakura had sat back down on the bucket and looked up at Malik with earnest eyes.

“You love him?” he asked, and his voice was so timid and sad that Malik could hardly believe it was actually the former King of Thieves he was talking to.  Sighing, he lowered himself into a crouch, running a hand through his sandy hair.

“I love you both,” he confessed matter-of-factly.  “Desperately. And it’s painful to watch you both continue to have your happiness sabotaged because some dead king has a stick up his ass.”  Bakura snorted.

“It’s not like I don’t deserve a little skepticism,” he said, and then paused and with small frown quietly added, “I think the last person who told me that they loved me was my mother.”  Malik smiled back at him sadly.

“I’m only sorry I beat Ryou to the punch,” he murmured.  Bakura shifted uneasily.

“I...had a dream.  I killed him. His blood was everywhere.”

“Is that what you’re so bent out of shape about?” Malik asked, allowing himself to fall back onto his butt.

“No, dreams...for me and the Lan--for  _ Ryou _ , dreams are kind of a  _ thing _ ,” Bakura  began, tilting his head to one side.  Malik raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.  “When we cohabitated his body, we’d share dreams, and I know that he’s kept dreaming about Kul Elna ever since I left.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that just a side effect of sharing brain space?”

“It’s really hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it...we didn’t get to do a lot of one-on-one talking before, not with Zorc around.  I think we kind of...communicated through dreams.”

“I doubt Ryou has any notion that you dreamed about killing him.”

“I know, but…”  Bakura trailed off and shifted again.  “It feels ominous. I can’t explain better than that.  I don’t like it, and I don’t like the thought of being an even worse influence on his life than I already have been.”  Malik rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a fucking martyr, you know that?” he chided, pushing Bakura’s knee affectionately.  “Ryou is a bad enough influence on his own goddamn life, much as he’s good at hiding that from everyone else.”  Bakura nodded, his mouth pulled into a considering frown. Then he took a deep breath and placed his hands resolutely on his thighs.

“Well, I’m not really used to stewing like this and it’s making me uncomfortable, so why don’t you show me how that foul contraption of yours works, Malik?”  Malik’s face split into a huge grin.

“Oh man, please start riding a bike.  You’d look so hot on a bike.” Bakura grinned back.

“I’m hot already,” he replied, standing and swaggering over to where Malik’s bike lay with its guts exposed.

_ Gods damn it _ , Malik thought bitterly, rising slowly.   _ Ryou’s lucky I love him more than I want to fuck that dopey grin off of Bakura’s face. _

 

~*~

 

Ryou padded into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.  He had tried to distract himself from his thoughts with a book, but his eyes kept drifting to the window as his mind replayed the stressful interactions he had had over the last couple days.

As he grabbed a mug down from the cabinet, he noticed the box of profiteroles on the counter.  He had made quick work of most of them immediately upon return from his ruined birthday party in a drunken rage, ranting all the while about the bourgeoisie, and how it was his party anyway, and how, clearly, the whole thing was a set-up.  He now lifted the lid of the box and spied one treat left. He knew it would be a little stale, but he’d be damned if he was about to waste his favorite food just because it wasn’t the freshest. 

He lifted it out and placed it on a small plate, remembering Bakura swinging the box tauntingly in front of him, that wicked little smirk on his face.  “I thought you might be suffering,” he had teased, and Ryou wondered if he knew how true that statement had been. Not for lack of sweets, per say, but for lack of...camaraderie perhaps?  That wasn’t entirely true, for he had had Malik, whose friendship and affection he cherished. And yet, in spite of that wonderful relationship, he had been selfishly suffering.

_ I need to tell him about Zorc _ , Ryou thought abruptly.  He had been hiding the news of his encounter from Bakura -- from everyone, really.  But the other man deserved to know he was being hunted, even if it threatened to upend what Ryou had begun to think of as his now happy home.  

As though on cue, the front door latch clicked open and Bakura’s voice filled the air, announcing his return.  Ryou heard the  _ thud, thud _ of his boots being dropped in the front hall, and then the gentle _ swish _ of his jeans as he appeared, leaning in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, Landlord,” he said quietly.  There was a smear of something black on his left cheek, and the distinct smell of motor oil had wafted into the tiny room.  He was grinning, but the mirth didn’t meet his eyes. Ryou returned a wan smile and turned back to his tea preparations.

“Good timing,” he said.  “I have to talk with you about something.  You want some of this?” He glanced back to see that Bakura’s fake smile had dropped.  The man nodded, stepping into the room.

“Look, about the other night --” Bakura started, but Ryou raised a hand to stop him, never turning from his task of filling the kettle with water.

“It’s not about that,” he said, lighting the stove burner and placing the kettle down.  He took a deep breath to steel himself, and then turned and leaned against the counter again, looking squarely into Bakura’s eyes.

“Zorc has returned,” Ryou said, and if there had been any more noise in the kitchen, he was sure Bakura wouldn’t have been able to hear him.  As it was, the other man blanched completely, his hand searching for the back of a chair. There was a thick silence while Bakura fumbled and landed in the seat, his wide-eyed gaze now fixed at the floor.

“If this is a joke --” he began, and Ryou noticed that his hands were shaking.

“That’s too cruel a joke for me to make, and you know it,” Ryou snapped, realizing that the anxiety rolling off of Bakura was beginning to affect him.  “I’m sorry,” he quietly added. “I know I should have told you right away, but when I got home you were asleep and screaming...I didn’t have it in me….”  Bakura sighed deeply, rubbing a hand across his face, smearing the line of grease down across his chin.

“Start from the beginning, I guess,” he said, suddenly sounding like he really was over 3000 years old.  

And so, once the kettle informed them of its boiling contents and Ryou was able to make their tea, he sat down and spilled everything -- how he had been approached, what Zorc had looked like, what he had said.

“I’m concerned,” he added, “that this has something to do with why the Pharaoh is back.”  He hadn’t really admitted that fear to himself, yet, but telling the whole tale had nudged his brain into fitting another puzzle piece into place.  Bakura was staring into his tea, which he hadn’t so much as sniffed yet.

“So it really is my fault,” he muttered, lifting the mug and swirling the contents gently.

“That’s not what I meant!” Ryou huffed.  “Whatever Zorc does has  _ nothing _ to do with you!”  Bakura laughed mirthlessly.

“That’s bullshit,” he said.  “I’m an excellent tool, easily manipulated, and he knows exactly how to use me to get at that blowhard Pharaoh.  If I wasn’t here, maybe he’d still be around, but he wouldn’t be showing himself like this. He’s playing with me.  He knows that I’ll….” he trailed off suddenly, seeming to think better of finishing his thought.

“You’ll what?” Ryou demanded, leaning forward so he could force Bakura to look into his eyes.

“I want to keep you safe,” the former thief whispered, his lavender eyes sliding upward, glancing through shaggy white bangs.  “I wish I hadn’t come back.” Ryou reached forward and rubbed the black stain on Bakura’s chin. 

“I want to keep you safe, too,” he said, allowing his hand to keep reaching upward, running his fingers through a lock of hair.  Bakura closed his eyes.

“I don’t understand why the two of you are so nice to me,” he groused.

“Who, me and Malik?  Well, we’re not exactly known for making good life choices,” Ryou stated, hoping to bring some levity to the conversation.  Bakura’s eyes snapped open, and Ryou was relieved to see they held some of their usual mischief. Bakura grabbed Ryou’s wandering hand and pulled it close, rising slightly and bending across the table so that his mouth was next to Ryou’s ear.

“Then let’s fuck shit up,” he whispered, hot breath filling the shell of Ryou’s ear, the scent of motor oil and sandalwood bearing down on him.  Ryou shivered. 

_ Now that’s the bastard I know and love _ , he thought.  Outwardly, he grinned.

“Oooo, is it time for scheming?” he squealed.  “I love a good scheme!” This made Bakura laugh and lean his forehead against Ryou’s.

“If I’m going to stick around, I might as well use my skills for good,” he said.

“That’ll be the day,” Ryou murmured, biting into his profiterole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" is a song performed by Lera Lynn, and apparently used in the HBO series True Detective! It seemed to me to fit Bakura and Malik's relationship.
> 
> Howdy! It's been a while, and I apologize for that, and for the fact that this chapter is so short and kind of light on plot. I had most of it written for a while now, but it didn't feel full enough to publish. But I hate letting it sit for too long, so I hope that even this little bit gives you all something good!
> 
> As always, I welcome your comments and insights -- you have all been so generous with your compliments of my work, and it really does help to motivate me! I'm completely floored by all the praise, and very appreciative. Thanks for sticking with me while I figure out how I want to tell this story that's been floating around in my head for years. I suspect this won't be a final draft, but I need to get it all written before I start thinking about rewriting it! And who knows how long getting it written will even take, haha.
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always! Enjoy!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> "Last Exit For The Lost" is a song by Fields of the Nephilim. "Empty" is a song by The Cranberries. Credit for those pull quotes goes to the original authors.
> 
> Bakura's experience in the Afterlife is more or less accurate; in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, it is said that the soul of the deceased is made to weigh their heart against a feather, to see if their sin is too great to admit them to the Field of Reeds (aka, Heaven). If their heart is found to be heavier, they are fed to Ammit, a monster with the head of a crocodile, the front legs of a lion, and the back end of a hippopotamus.
> 
> My chapters right now are pretty short! I am hoping to figure out how to flesh them out sufficiently to make chapter updates worth the anticipation!


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